Innocence Faded
by Dreamscape Studios
Summary: What happens to the soldier when war is over? Is there anything left to live for? This multipart fic contains 1x2/2x1 shounenai and yaoi content, plenty of angst and glimmers of hope and romance. Mild lemon and strong lime in some sections. *now complete*
1. Innocence Faded 1

Warnings: Angst, hurt, despair and heartache with several spoonfuls of hope and romance to make them go down smoother. Mild lemon and strong lime in some sections. This fic takes place approximately one week following the events in Endless Waltz (movie version). This is a multipart fic.

Pairings: 1x2/2x1, implied 3x4

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is owned by a bunch of companies in Japan (Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency), and their sandbox is only on unsanctioned loan for us to play in. ^_^ The song "Innocence Faded" belongs to John Petrucci and Dream Theater, lyrics used without permission.  
  
Authors' notes: Innocence Faded is written completely in alternating first-person perspective. The three asterisks usually denote a shift in POV, with thoughts or emphasis indicated by italics. In-monologue flashbacks will be denoted by slashes, complete ones or scene changes with the asterisks. Please review and feel free to comment via email.

*******************  
Animation  
Breathes a cloudless mind  
******************* 

I am the perfect soldier. 

I _am _the perfect soldier. 

I don't hesitate. I don't second-guess. I don't fail. 

I have no fears. I have no regrets. I have no...humanity. 

I have nothing. 

I am nothing...but a machine that kills and kills with no remorse. In a dawning era of absolute peace, I am the antithesis of everything I fought for. Relena thinks she loves me. In reality, I am that which she hates. 

_Are you lost, niichan?_

The floor beneath my knees is real enough, the burning heat in my eyes a pain I can't deny. Perhaps I do have the capacity to feel. Do you think that makes me human? It doesn't. If anything, I am a monster, some freak of nature or science or both, cobbled together from machine and man. Someone once told me it was alright for humans to act by their emotions. I wonder sometimes if they realized the irony in giving that advice to something less than human. 

_Are you lost, niichan?_

_I've been lost since I was born._

"Heero!" There was a blur of motion to my left, then hands clasping my shoulders, a wiry body kneeling down in front of me. 

Duo. 

"I'm not going to ask you if you're ok because it's obvious you're not." He sounded unaccountably grim. "Can you stand?" 

Good question. An even better question was if I wanted to stand. A still, quiet part of me offered up that it was not uncommon for animals to choose the place and time in which to meet death. They simply lay down and don't get up. The idea had a certain irony to it that I could deeply appreciate. 

In the end, he didn't give me a choice. A slim shoulder thrust itself beneath my arm and he clasped me around the waist, hauling me to my feet with fierce determination. My legs supported my own weight, several days in a Brussels hospital had seen to that. My body wasn't the concern, I think he knew that when he found me. I think, as he approached, he made a split-second decision to fight a battle he had every chance of losing. Baka. 

"Come on, one foot in front of the other," he prompted gently. All around us, the world continued to engage in celebration. Peace had won out over war. At last. I closed my eyes, my jaw clenching convulsively. All of the instruments of war had been destroyed. Almost all. 

I realized his grip on my waist had gone slack, realized that he was attempting to direct me into a chair. Somewhere along the way, we'd made it into a hotel room. His by the look of it. I slumped over with my elbows braced on my knees. Distantly in my mind, I could hear what was slowly, surely driving me insane... the clash of battle, the screams of the dying, the high, sweet voice of one small, innocent child... 

"It's over," he said quietly. The emotion in his voice was awe, fear and wonder intertwined. 

I drew a slow, shaky breath, making my own decision. "Not quite." I knew what I had to do now. Ninmu ryoukai. I stood, pulling the empty gun from the waistband of my jeans. "Do you have any ammo left?" I felt calm, cool...empty. 

"Yeah, why?" His eyes narrowed, I think he was beginning to realize what I meant to do. He just wasn't ready to admit it. 

"It's not over," I said quietly. "It has to be over before there can be peace." I took a deep breath, and then another one. "All of the weapons have to be destroyed." 

"Kuso, Heero!" [1] He'd admitted it now, and I've never seen such cold fury in his eyes before. They weren't violet anymore, they were black. "Are you out of your mind?" 

Mute, I merely met his gaze. Empty. I was so empty. "I have to." 

"You are, aren't you?" The fury became anguish. "Heero, God..." His arms slipped around me, holding me tightly. I just stood there, not pushing him away, not holding him back. I don't think I knew what to do. "Iya, Heero. No." His eyes found mine, and the look in them was fiercely intense. "You're not going to do this." 

"What do you suggest I do?" 

He reached up, touched my face. The intensity was still there in his eyes. Along with a bone-chilling fear. "Let me make love to you," he said at last. 

It was probably the last thing I expected him to say. Startled, I stared at him. "Why?" 

*** 

I held him, the thump of his heart through our clothes a frantic, desperate rhythm. There were any number of things I could have said to answer him, all of them the truth. _Because I love you. Because it's taken me a year to figure out that the only times I'm really alive are when I'm with you. Because it's the only time I can fool myself that you feel the same way._

However, none of those would have soothed the almost-wariness in his eyes. So, I cocked my head to one side, smiled crookedly and shrugged, fingers traveling the tightly-clenched plane of his jaw. I never lie, but that's not a guarantee of the whole truth. "Because you're beautiful," I whispered, the word hanging between us like a silken cord. "Because I don't think you should be alone inside your thoughts and your skin right now. Because I want to get under there and silence whatever has you screaming." And he was screaming...God, I could hear it even now. Once you've heard the shrieks of the painfully dying, you never forget them. 

"There are a hundred good reasons, Heero, so you can pick the ones you're comfortable with, but they all come back to the same thing." I slid my grasp to the back of his neck and gently tugged him forwards, placing my breath and my answer delicately in his mouth. "Because I want to." 

Even if I wanted to lie, I couldn't. No matter their expression, those eyes have never deserved anything but the truth from me. 

*** 

My eyes narrowed slightly. For a moment, I had every intention of arguing the point with him. But Duo didn't stop, he didn't offer me the chance. His words kept battering at my already ill-used defenses, reaching inside of me until I couldn't shut him out anymore. I was too tired, and the touch of his hand was too warm, too soft, too... 

Damn it. Stop. 

'Because I want to.' _Why Duo? Why? I can't imagine._ I couldn't. I had no comprehension of why he saw any reason to prolong what had become agony... but... I had no argument against him, no firm footing to stand on. "If you want to..." There was no tone to my voice, no emotion. I felt empty inside, as though there were a great, yawning void where my soul should be. I looked up at him, and I have to wonder what he saw in my eyes. Misery, perhaps? I don't know. My voice echoed my thoughts. "I don't know..." I shook my head restlessly. "I need...something..." ...to hold on to. 

I wanted to cry, but machines don't shed tears. 

*** 

Reluctantly withdrawing my mouth from his, I shook my head just a bit and covered his lips with the tips of my fingers. His skin was cool to the touch, almost as though he was in shock, though I could feel the heat lurking deep beneath it. Perhaps that was the best description of him: smooth, glacial surface covering molten, fiery depths. No matter how glassy-dead his eyes looked, the smallest spark of that life-fire burned within. 

My own eyes stung slightly with the tears I could feel buried far inside his, and I glanced down to blink them away. Yeah, yeah, I know...boys don't cry. Me and my big mouth. Spout off one pithy remark while getting the shit beaten out of you--cause who wants to look like a pansy in front of five whack-job scientists?--and suddenly it's a way of life. Besides, I'm starting to think that notion might not be true. Having a Y chromosome doesn't stop you from hurting inside. 

'I need...something...' he whispered, hollow and tinny. The strong Heero I knew so well was nowhere to be seen, and this brittle doppelganger both scared the shit out of me and broke my heart. "I know." _I know what you need... _My voice was no louder than his, perhaps softer, even, for if there had been more breath it would have trembled from the emotion in my chest. My fingers slowly traced around his lips, following the path of memory alone. He was in there, and I had to reach him, fast, before he drowned in himself. "That's why I want to." 

*** 

I was shaking. I couldn't stop it. Control was breaking loose in a terrible avalanche in slow motion, leaving the Perfect Soldier trembling like a leaf in a strong wind. 

_Are you lost, niichan?_

_Shut up!_ God, I'm losing it... No.. no, I was lost a long time ago. So long ago the memories are nothing but ashes. 

Swallowing hard, I leaned into his touch as though it were a lifeline, clinging to reality, to sanity. 

"Help me," I whispered. I shouldn't be doing this, I was just going to drag him down with me, but... Just help me. "Onegai...Duo...onegai..." 

*** 

Our eyes stayed locked for a moment, an hour, a lifetime...I wasn't sure. For the most part, I don't practice iron emotional control--if I'm happy, I laugh, if I'm angry, I shout...fairly simple and straightforward. Something in me steeled when the shivering took him, though. I held the shredded, bleeding remnants of his soul in my hands; on some level I knew if I wavered one bit, I'd lose him. And I refused to fail him now. 

"Heero..." I'd been repeating his name over and over since I found him. My free hand slipped around him, lacing through the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck. He was trembling uncontrollably; he's stronger and heavier than me, and only the power of the almighty adrenaline let me keep us both from falling. Even so, I couldn't strip my eyes from him, not for a second. "I have always been here to help you." _Whether you wanted me there or not_. 

My fingers drifted from his lips up the lines of one cheek, whispering without words exactly how much I wanted to soothe, to worship him with my touch. I leaned closer, nearly enough for our mouths to touch. Lost to him, I was, swallowed whole in his eyes. I hoped and prayed he could find at least a little of the strength he needed in mine. "All you had to do was ask." The soft beginnings of a kiss temporarily silenced the last of his plea. 

*** 

I don't think I've ever needed something so much in my entire life. It was terrifying. 

Needs are weaknesses, needs can be exploited. If you need someone, they can hurt you, because you've revealed to them the ultimate vulnerability. Don't need, don't want...don't feel. 

Why does Duo break all the rules? No one else could have stopped me or thwarted my single-minded attempt to courteously remove the threat I presented to the world. You're so dangerous, Duo. So. Fucking. Dangerous. 

I leaned into him harder, trying to escape into the refuge he presented. He nuzzled against my cheek, urging my head up, and suddenly we were kissing. I kissed him back almost helplessly, giving up on any last remnants of resistance. 

For a little while, I just wanted to stop the screaming inside.. 

*** 

He kissed me with manic desperation, something I was far more used to feeling in me than in him. A frantic, impassioned need to swallow the moment whole for fear it would get away and never come again. Yet, bubbling under that frenzied flood was another current, a bend in the river. I had the oddest sensation that he was waiting for me, that he _needed_ me to tell him where we would go. It wasn't inexperience--I have the scars to prove it--but something else made him hesitate. 

I kissed him one more time and opened my eyes, pulling back just enough to where I could see his tightly-closed eyelids. My fingers continued to act on their own, unable to stop touching him, mesmerized by the achingly soft hairs at the nape of his neck, the corded-muscled and drawn-bow strength of his shoulders that lurked beneath his shirt. He opened his eyes and...I have no other word for it. I drowned. 

And yet, is it any surprise that for Shinigami revelation should come in death? 

_Wakatta. Ryoukai. _[2] It felt strange to be thinking in his words, his language (even though I had busted my ass and lost countless hours of sleep to master the perversely confusing language known as Japanese, and not to read shoujo manga, no matter what he thought), but also ironically appropriate. Japanese gets through to him when nothing else will. J proved that when he ordered Heero to self-destruct. Reminded me I still owed psycho doc a good killing for that. 

The look in his eyes stunned and frightened me. I was raised on the streets, with no guarantee the morning sun meant any of us street kids would eat that day, but I had _never_ seen an expression of such complete and utter loss in my life. Seeing it in his eyes...hurt far more than when the Oz goons thoroughly kicked my ass. That kind of pain touches just your body, it doesn't leach into your heart or soul. Both of mine irrevocably belonged to the guy clutching me like a lifeline. 

I wrapped my arms around him, untucking his tank top from his jeans and sliding my hands underneath to touch his warming skin. To feel every desperate breath rattle in and out from his lungs. To feel the fervent pound of his heart against my chest and know he was still alive. And to affirm I would do anything to keep him that way. 

"Shhh," I whispered against his ear, tightening my hold on him, turning just enough to kiss that exposed hollow where collarbone joined neck, my tongue traveling upwards to suckle the pulse at his jugular. I refused to offer him blithe, worthless assurances that everything would be all right. I wasn't fool enough to believe that would help. Everything wasn't all right, and neither of us were pretending at that anymore. 

But what I did give him was the one thing in my power to promise. "I'm here, Heero. I'm not going to leave you alone." My mouth traveled back up towards the delicate curve of his ear. I exhaled softly, feeling my breath stir the wispy hairs there, and kissed his earlobe. "I'm here," I breathed again. "Itsumademo." [3] 

*** 

God, do you know how beautiful he is? I'm insane, totally lost to reason if that's all I can fixate on, but there it is. 

Beauty is so far outside the realm of my experience. It's an abstraction, a curiosity that I simply don't have the understanding to grasp. I've held it in my arms, crushed it to my chest and possessed it with a ferocity I never knew I was capable of... but I never comprehended it until now. 

_He_ is beauty. He is all I have known of beauty, all I want to know. And you know, if I can still recognize that, then maybe there is a little hope left for me. But right now, I don't have any hope, or any ferocity left in me. I'm tired...so very, very tired... and I think he could see it, knew that that weariness was his enemy, his opponent in this impossible game. 

'I'm here, Heero. I'm not going to leave you alone.' 

The Perfect Soldier whimpered softly at the very thought of being left alone. If J had been there to enjoy it, he would have laughed...and shortly thereafter I would have been put down like a rabid dog. But he couldn't hear it, it reached Duo's ears alone, and Duo merely tightened his grasp on me, whispering something soothing in my ear. 

I tugged at his jacket, clumsily pushing it from his shoulders. I felt as though I'd never done this before, as though the countless nights that had begun just this way meant nothing. It was like going through the motions, following the steps to some dance I couldn't quite remember. 

_Hold onto me, don't let go. I have to find something..._

I don't want to hurt anyone anymore, I just want to die... I want the screaming to stop, and the pain to ease. I want to tear the aching heart from my chest and slow the painful breaths that mean I have to exist for another moment... I just-- 

I buried my head against his chest. "Please, Duo, make me forget..." 

*** 

'Make me forget...' he whispered in this broken, little-boy voice. How had I missed all this time exactly what it cost him to be what he was? Baka, he always called me, and in my mind I had twisted it into the closest thing to a term of affection Heero was capable of offering, but God, when I'm wrong I'm really wrong. 

Baka. 

Stupid. For loving him with everything I have and still knowing so little about him. 

Had he been, in his own way, reaching out to me and asking for my help the whole time? And I was too fucking blind and crazy to see it for what it was? 

Yet, here he was now, asking me in a way I understood for what he needed most. Humbled, I turned and laid my cheek against his hair as he ducked his head against me, almost like he was trying to hide. Slowly, reverently, I breathed in the scent of his skin, his shampoo, the million indefinable factors combined into the unique olfactory sensation of Heero Yuy. So familiar, I nearly came out of my skin with want. After no sight or word of him for almost a year, I had woven thorns of hopelessness around my vulnerable, lonely heart. Thorns the rekindled fires between us sought to consume. 

Air whispered over my shoulders, and it was only then I realized my jacket had become a pile near our feet. Normally, I would be curling my body against his, absorbing his warmth--I tend to get cold easily, and I don't think I'd survive a day in Heero's regular wardrobe--but not today. Today he had nothing to give, no warmth to offer me. It was my turn. 

"I want to feel you." Under his shirt, my hands crept higher, nudging the fabric towards the shoulders whose breadth hinted at a growth spurt on the horizon. "I want to feel your skin against mine, with nothing in between." 

_ I want to love you. I thought I knew what that meant, I thought that was what I was doing before, but I was loving me. I was loving my idea of what you were. But now, I want to love you as you are, as you've finally let me see. I want to be what you need. Whatever that is, whatever it takes, that's what I want to be._

*** 

It hurt. Being touched, being alive, it hurt almost more than I could stand. I shook my head, fidgeting in an effort to ease it, but stood my ground, letting him touch me. Slowly the pain seeped away, replaced by heat, longing, comfort. Comfort that smelled and tasted of Duo. 

The soft, worn fabric of that battered tank top slid over my skin, guided by a pair of slim, sure hands. I lifted my head but not my eyes, raising my arms so that the shirt could fall away completely... and then I stood bared from the waist-up to his perusal. Distantly, I caught his eyes flickering over my skin, counting every mark, every scar that had made its appearance since last he'd seen me without clothing. 

I lifted my eyes at last, looking out at him from beneath the jagged shade of my bangs. It was an oddly comforting thing to do, a familiar thing to do. 

Just one problem there. Duo's not stupid. The look might be the same as in the past, but the eyes were still broken and lost. 

One breath followed another, eyes falling closed as I felt the warmth of him radiating against my own, chill skin. I sought his mouth blindly, a soft, desperate sound escaping my throat. Moth to a flame, lodestone to polar North...I could sense him giving me his strength, pouring it into that empty place inside of me. It was like the fierce brightness of a star pitted against the depths of a black hole. 

No matter how bright the star, no matter how strong, sooner or later the vacuum will drag it down, eclipsing its light. 

I almost pulled away then, but he wouldn't allow it, holding onto me stubbornly, drowning me in his warmth, his presence. Bathing me in his light. 

*** 

I didn't ask him to undress me. Tonight--now--wasn't about me at all, and it certainly wasn't happening for the purpose of making a newly-unemployed God of Death all tingly and romantic. I untucked the crimson T-shirt I was wearing and quickly slipped it off, letting it cascade down until it resembled nothing so much as a pool of blood on the floor. 

Heero glanced back up at me, and that look once more speared my soul. I didn't care if it took me all night, next week, the rest of my life, I did _not_ want to see it again. Instead, I turned my attention to his body, to the roadmap of muscle and scar tissue heretofore hidden by his clothes. And all I could think was _'beautiful.'_

My arms glided around him, holding him to me as if I wanted him to crawl right inside my skin. Maybe I did. He made a small noise in the back of his throat that shattered my heart again, and then he was kissing me. I kissed him back, threading my fingers along his jaw and guiding his chin downwards to let me inside. Everything about it was different. Even though my role had been to initiate, once our feet were on the path Heero had always fallen into the role of leader in our physical relationship without hesitation. 

Except now. Just as he'd done when we were on the stolen shuttle, he put the controls in my hand, depending on me. Trusting me not to let him fall. He'd seemed tired then, just a short time ago. Now? Magnified a hundredfold into exhausted. Drained. Empty. 

"I won't let you go," I gasped out against his mouth, answering my words with a fierce, hungry kiss that trailed down his chin and throat. Beneath my tongue, I felt both his pulse and convulsive swallow. _Ai shiteru!_ I wanted to shout--I think that's part of why I talk a lot, things don't seem real unless someone says them--but I knew I couldn't. [4] I couldn't shoot holes in his floundering strength by casting out the full depth of my feelings. 

Besides, it wasn't a lie if my body spoke them without words, was it? 

*** 

God Duo, it would have been kinder if I'd killed you. 

I don't understand you... 

He's everything I could never be. Everything I long to be. Real and genuine in a way that makes him glow with a fierce inner light... but he has the darkness inside, too. Maybe that's what made him willing to make love to a monster... to give that monster a piece of his soul until it could find its own. 

Holding on took all of the strength I had left to me. But when I felt that strength buckling... he was there. I squeezed my eyes shut, listening to his harsh breathing, the pound of my own heart deafening in my ears. It finally drowned out the screams of the dying that echoed in my mind. He gently pushed me down onto the bed, and I took him with me, keeping our bared flesh in contact, clinging to his warmth. His braid unraveled beneath my questing fingers, chestnut hair spilling down to cover us both in a cloak of gleaming silk. 

For a little while, it held the world at bay, casting the illusion that there was nothing left but the two of us. Barriers dropped, words discarded for the language we understood best. It was enough to block out the chaos... to let me pretend that there was nothing left but the two of us. 

For a time, perhaps it was true... 

*** 

I had no idea which of us slept first, but I woke before him, his body splayed full-length against the side of my own, his head on my shoulder, wisps of my hair--I didn't clearly remember it coming undone--covering us both. The worst of the tension was gone from his face and it bore the slight sleep-relaxation I used to lie awake and watch, fascinated. 

And it fascinated me still. His eyes were closed, long eyelashes like black lacy fans against his cheeks. Thank God the first thing I saw that morning wasn't yesterday's dead, empty eyes. I'd managed, but I didn't know if I was that strong today. "Ne, Heero," I whispered softly, knowing I would hate myself if I woke him, but unable to keep the words silent, "I'm still here. I'm not going to leave you alone." I pressed a smooth, dry kiss to his forehead, stroking back the mussed hair that hung in his face. _Ever. _

He stirred, but he didn't wake. His head shifted against my shoulder, a haunted expression flitting across his face. Every muscle in his body tensed, his hand tightening into a fist around the bed sheet. "Yurusu," he murmured, "gomen nasai." _Forgive me, I'm sorry._ "Gomen nasai." Tossing his head, he finally settled back against my side, quiet if not peaceful. Unbidden, unnoticed, a single tear slipped between the thick, dark lashes and rolled down his cheek. 

_I'd carve up my soul to stop your pain._ I wanted to draw him inside my own skin and hold him there, give him a place of safety and peace. The Wing Zero pilot's capacity for self-flagellation and blame bordered on legendary. And it _hurt_ seeing him like this. 

My mind flashed back to something Sister Helen told me. Skinny, scrappy, seven-year-old me had been out to prove that my nickname of 'Maxwell's little demon' was well-earned, fighting with the other boys. This time I'd picked the wrong one to tangle with and several bruises and scrapes later, I was manfully gritting my teeth as she swabbed off each one, her eyes liquefying with each hissed protest I made. _Why are you crying, Sister?_ I had asked, the end of my braid knotted around my fist; I tugged on it when the antiseptic burned, because it made me think of pain besides what was stinging most. _I'm the one who's hurting._

She had given me a watery smile and a quick hug. _It's because I love you, Duo. When you hurt, I hurt...._

God, she was right. I loved him. When he hurt, I hurt. As misery contorted his face and he drew taut as a bowstring next to me, I nearly gasped with the sheer amount of his anguish. _How did Quatre ever stand it_, I thought, _feeling what we were feeling?_ It only raised my estimation of him as the strongest of us all. Strong enough to bend around us, unite us, without breaking. 

"Daijoubu, aisuru,"[5] I breathed, which sounded almost like a sob to my own ears. "I'll protect you." It fell with a hard thump in my stomach to realize just how strongly I meant it. I'd been a little at odds future-wise in the month or so prior to the Mariemeia incident, but...now I felt I had a noble purpose. A soul to save. It probably wasn't the manner Father Maxwell or Sister Helen would have chosen for me, but I think they knew I was never destined to be a priest. 

I curled my body around Heero's and drew him closer against my chest, determined to defend him from without...and from within. 

*** 

[1] Japanese for 'shit!' 

[2] Best translates as 'Understood. Acknowledged.' 

[3] Japanese for 'forever' 

[4] Japanese for 'I love you', a very intense version of it. 

[5] Japanese for 'It's all right, beloved.'


	2. Innocence Faded 2

************  
Fascination  
leaves the doubting blind  
************

I guess I dozed off at some point, because my next conscious moment involved the relentless beeping of the phone. I opened one eye carefully--despite the still, leaden warmth next to and partially on me, I had this moment of panic that the perfect soldier would arise and begin shooting holes in the source of the noise. Believe it or not, we lost an alarm clock that way in school. It wasn't the hotel phone--not many people knew I was here instead of basking in the festivities--or my mobile--fewer still had that number--which left the portable vidphone.  
  
Only a bare handful of people have that code, and none of them would call for anything less than a good reason. Mere congratulations and backslapping about the war not counting as a good reason, I groaned and slowly edged out of the bed. Heero rolled towards the warm spot I'd vacated, his brows drawing down in unconscious, silent protest.  
  
To tell the truth, I forgot to breathe. The fragile, unguarded vulnerability of Heero Yuy asleep in my bed, missing my body against his, was a moment I wanted to hold tight for eternity.  
  
Unfortunately, the phone had other ideas. Shaking my left arm--which was thoroughly numb from being slept on--I stumbled into the living room of the suite, pausing just long enough to pick up a pair of boxers and struggle into them. It wasn't fear of being seen naked, but even considering the few familiar faces I'd see--all faces that had seen me sans my shorts and my dignity more than once--I wanted the protection of at least one layer of clothing. The pins-and-needles feeling shoved itself to the forefront of my consciousness, shooting up my arm as blood vessels and nerve endings screamed back to life. For all that he'd looked frail and beaten down yesterday, Heero had proven heavy enough to put my arm into a coma.  
  
"I'm coming, I'm coming," I mumbled, dropping into a chair by the desk and palming the phone to 'receive'. "Yeah?" I said.  
  
Well, that's what I meant to say; in reality, it turned into a jaw-cracking yawn.  
  
"Asking if I woke you would be ludicrous, wouldn't it?" The voice on the other end was dryly amused, wafting into the part of my brain that processed incoming information. Despite myself, I smiled, dropping my chin into my right hand. Only Wufei had the balls to drag me out of bed this early.  
  
In fact, I think I'd known it was him calling, or I wouldn't have gotten up. More than perhaps any of the other pilots, Wufei was my friend. Yeah, Heero had been my fuck-buddy and God knows how much I am in love with him, but friends? Real friends? Considering everything we've been through, I'd like to say we are, but friendship is a funny thing. Sex and love can both go one way, but the fine print in friendship makes consent and reciprocation mandatory to qualify for full benefits. A real friend is someone to whom you can say the very first thing that comes out of your mouth when you just woke up.  
  
So, I said it. "Nice uniform." Then I giggled like a schoolgirl. I'd like to say I was just punchy from lack of real sleep, but I suspect it was more along the line of near-hysteria. Everything in the past week or so came back in a vivid, dizzying rush. We were almost part of another war. I said goodbye to my aibou for good. [1] And yesterday I found the crystalline Perfect Soldier shattered at my feet. Happy f-ing holidays, Duo.  
  
To his credit, Wufei didn't ask if I was all right. Some people have the perception of me as this babbling, blithering village idiot, but he's hard to fool. He calmly waited for the worst of it to pass before giving the collar of his shirt an arrogant flick. "It's laundry day, this is all I had to wear." It was a lie, we both knew it, but it served to break the tension and yank my mental autopilot off course. Like I said, he's a real friend. 

He'd caught up with me when I was first waiting for word on Heero, and we spent several hours discussing what led him to drop out of sight and join up with Mariemeia. His reasons were his own, and while I fell short of agreeing with them, at least I understood them now. Didn't mean I wouldn't kick his ass later for shooting at us, but I understood.  
  
"I could say the same for you," he observed, and if I weren't fairly convinced of his attachment to the female of the species, I would have been uncomfortable with his eyes on me that way. Okay, so I'm not sure if I'm really gay or if the soul I was destined to adore was only available with outdoor plumbing. More and more, I think it's the latter. But the time has long since passed where I could change my mind. 

"Except you look like shit and I don't," Wufei concluded with a smug grin. I hated that look, but it was a huge relief to see something familiar. I knew my friend was back. "The weather's nice today, you should go out and get some sun."  
  
"Love you too," I mock-growled back, having finally regained my equilibrium and full use of my left arm. "What's on your mind? I thought I told you never to call me here."  
  
He grunted in response; the only person more capable than Heero of rendering a tacit male noise into a full language is Chang Wufei. He explained a little bit about the Preventers, his new job, Sally Po--and even half-asleep I filed _that_ juicy tidbit away for later cross-examination--and would I be interested in joining up, seeing how I was now gainfully unemployed? Granted, all of us had managed to sack away more than enough funds from OZ to live on in incredible comfort, but after the constant activity, leisure would probably find us restless, he pointed out. "You don't have to tell me now; it wouldn't be right to expect a coherent answer out of you until you've had food and coffee. But think about it, okay?"  
  
I scrubbed one hand across my eyes and nodded, curling my teeth around another yawn. "So what did you really call for?"  
  
There was a...ripple in the bland façade of his countenance, like a tiny pebble had been dropped in a puddle. If I wasn't awake before, I was now. The angle at which his head titled emphasized the deep sloe of his eyes. For several long minutes, we had what amounted to a staring contest. He looked away first. "I was just wondering if you'd seen Heero yet."  
  
For a brief second, I felt like a kid caught stealing, or worse, a boy caught with a dirty magazine. I was all too certain that large neon arrows had spontaneously appeared behind me pointing to the bedroom of my suite. Still, what Heero and I did wasn't exactly a secret; in fact, Wufei was the first person I actually told. I'm sure Quatre knew, but he didn't get it from my lips before Wufei did.

In fact, that conversation included not only Heero and I turning from conversation (okay, me having conversation and Heero having companionable silence) to copulation, but the beginning admission of the feelings in my heart. Nothing like a captive audience, literally. I told him about how Heero came to kill me and jumped me instead. That mingled sense of fright, horror, and wonder blossoming in my chest whenever he was near. That crushing pain inside me every time he left the cell. How I wanted to be the one to go out and fight, because then he'd be safe. I talked until I was hoarse, a rare feat. 

Looking back, I remember how good it felt to unburden everything I'd held inside. To find someone besides Deathscythe who would listen. Not knocking my aibou or anything, but spilling your guts to a hunk of gundanium isn't completely fulfilling. [1] "Yeah," I admitted at last, a bit guarded. "I've seen him." Which was true. I had seen him. I just left out the part about him still being there.  
  
His eyes were unreadable, flat, shiny chips of obsidian inset in his sallow-tinged face. When I'd spilled my guts about Heero, Wufei had responded predictably; I remember prominent use of 'kisama', 'weak', and 'pathetic', in particular. Emotionally drained, I had flopped down on the hard, cold floor, not caring that I banged my wrists in the manacles or that I was lying on my braid. Speaking everything aloud had left me feeling hollow and empty. 

Somewhere between tears and exhaustion--dreading the former, encouraging the latter--I felt a hand on my shoulder. It squeezed, almost imperceptibly, and I turned my head just enough to catch a glimpse of Wufei's eyes. He wasn't looking at me, he was looking anywhere but at me, but his touch was warm, firm and oddly soothing. _It's all right,_ the hand had seemed to say. _I understand. _It was months later that I learned about his wife and a field of flowers and knew it was true.  
  
Finally, he nodded, as though that was the answer he expected. "When you see him again...look out for him. Something's not right, something beyond his normal suicidal tendencies." Talk about an understatement, I thought, shoving my hands into my lap. After what I'd seen last night intermingled with what Wu wasn't saying, they were shaking. 

He folded his hands on the desk in front of him, index fingers tapping together. I felt a shiver go down my spine; Wufei _ doesn't_ fidget. "Something he said while we were fighting has been playing over and over in my head...something about killing a little girl and a puppy?" The intonation made it a question, but I shook my head; if it had happened, he hadn't talked about it with me. Not that Heero and I had talked much the night before. 

Wufei shrugged in acknowledgment. "Anyways, I thought you should know when you saw him again." The staring contest began again, and it was my turn to blink. "Take care, Duo." With a blip, the vid screen winked out.  
  
I'd wanted to talk more, but that really wasn't his way. He told me something he thought I needed to know, because whether he realized Heero was still here, he knew I had seen him. He knew I'd find him again, no question in his mind. Wu knows me pretty well, after all. 

Dealing with Heero's ghosts and mine was up to me, though. Wufei had his own ghosts to face: Meiran, whom he fought for, Treize, whom he fought against. You know, it frightens me when I start thinking that I'm the least fucked up of us all.  
  
I stood and stretched catlike, arching my back and feeling each vertebrae pop and slide into alignment before bending over to touch the floor. Well, close to the floor--I never have been, nor will I ever be, as flexible as Trowa. How long before they call? I wondered. Or better yet, show up? Quatre has to know something's up with Heero. The blonde's psychic abilities weren't precise, nor did they completely bend to his command, but more than once they'd given him insight that defied explanation. 

Standing up and shaking my head to dispel the spots before my eyes, I tried to comb my fingers through my loose hair, wincing as they snagged. Hopefully I could brush it out without waking Heero. I admit it, I wanted a few selfish moments consisting of nothing but absorbing the sight of him.  
  
Selfishness wasn't the special of the day, it seemed. When I walked in, Heero sat up abruptly, eyes all but pinning me to the wall. There were faint purple sleep-bruises decorating the hollows beneath them, but thank God they weren't yesterday's eyes. They were hard and immovable and achingly familiar. Completely at odds with what happened the night before. 

Somewhere, that self-preservation warning was shrieking. But we all know I'm blind, deaf, and dumb when it comes to him.  
  
He tugged the blankets a bit higher around his waist the closer I came; they were almost to his chest as I sat down next to him, the bed sinking slightly beneath my weight. I wanted to say something, anything, but words seemed very, very far away. Fine, then; without any of the usual tentativeness I might have shown, I reached out and laid a hand on his arm.  
  
He didn't flinch. Or pull away. Instead, he turned the full power of the Glare of Doom on my hand. I half-expected his eyes to turn into little laser cannons and leave nothing at the end of my wrist except a sizzling, smoking stump. I yanked it back a few inches, paused, then with a sigh fisted it into my lap. 

In a tangle of blanket, Heero shoved past me without a second glance. He didn't touch me, but my gut ached as though I'd been punched. The bathroom door clicked closed, the lock punctuating the sound.  
  
'The weather's nice today, you should go out and get some sun.'  
  
I laid down where Heero had been, trying to seek his warmth. But the bed was already cold. 

Ne, Wufei, I thought, closing my stinging eyes, it looks like it's gonna rain.

***

[1] 'Aibou' is Japanese for 'partner, pal'. That's what Duo always calls Deathscythe when he's talking to it.


	3. Innocence Faded 3

*****************************  
Until the circle breaks  
And wisdom lies ahead  
The faithful live Awake  
The rest remain misled  
*****************************  
  
Wintertime air against sleep-warmed skin is never pleasant. Combined with the icy tension in the room it was even worse. I had no one to blame but myself. Duo was ready to pick up where we'd left off almost a year ago, I was the one resisting, the one that wouldn't let it happen. 

I let the blanket drop to the bathroom tiles, slipping inside the glass-enclosed shower. I turned the hot water on, increasing the pressure until it was nearly at full force, adding just enough cool to keep it from scalding my skin. If I'd thought I could have gotten away with it, I'd have taken the extra punishment, but Duo had sharp eyes. The stinging spray was painful, but I made no attempt to escape it. I leaned against the back wall of the shower, arms spread wide, and let it do its worst. Even then the blood still stained my skin. It never washes off, and I don't think it ever will.  
  
Drawing a slow, careful breath, I lifted my hands and raked back my hair, turning so that the water beat down on my back as I leaned my head against the wall. It was so hot that the feel of it was a bittersweet mix of pleasure/pain, just like.... I swallowed hard. Just like being with Duo. A shudder went through me as the gravity of what had happened hit me again. The war was over. What happened to the soldiers when there were no more battles to be fought? What happened to a deadly weapon when it had fulfilled its purpose? I'd let him distract me last night, but a calm, cold part of me whispered that I knew very well what happened. Delaying the inevitable was foolish....delaying the inevitable would just cause him more hurt.  
  
I cringed beneath the scalding rain, shoving my hands through my wet hair, flexing my fingers convulsively as they slid free, then tightening them into fists. One fist met the wall, and then the other, pain blossoming beneath battered skin. It was a good feeling, a real feeling, almost enough to drown out the chaos in my head. Above all else, I had to put last night, and every night like it that had preceded it, out of my mind.

It was all perfectly clear. My star was collapsing, turning into a gaping maw that would swallow the universe around it whole. I refused to let it take him, too. 

Pushing away from the wall, I turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. The steam created a short-lived envelope of warmth around me, but it faded quickly. The cold clung to my skin, causing an involuntary shiver. I'd need that cold, the emptiness that spread outward from that inner void... It was the only thing that would let me walk back out into that room...and then walk away.  
  
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I turned the knob and steeled myself. I needed that tensile strength as I stepped outside, my eyes hopelessly destined to lock with his. 

I remember once, as Wing Zero arrowed across the sea, hurtling us both towards another objective, another mission, looking up and noting that the sun was setting on the cockpit's starboard side. The sky was like fire on that side, orange and red. To port, it was a dark blue. Somewhere in the middle, in the skies ahead, those two conflicting fronts met and merged, creating a deep, rich purple...warm and cool intermingled into something else entirely... That was the color of his eyes, like the skies at sunset. Beautiful eyes, raw with badly concealed hurt. 

I wonder if I could have managed not to care, once. If so, where was that part of me now? Killed by those eyes? Sent into retreat by the memory of his touch? Or perhaps, slowly, I was waking from the nightmare I'd been trapped in since childhood. 

I wish I'd known to wake up before it was too late.

  
***  
  
I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew it the moment I saw him. I knew it the moment I realized he intended to throw himself away as one of the useless weapons of war. I knew he had everything to take, nothing to give. I knew, I knew!  
  
Oh, God, if I knew, then why does it still hurt so much?  
  
My face hurt from crying. Even my eyelashes ached. I hate crying. It has to be one of the most humiliating things a guy can possibly do, giving someone else the power to put your emotions on 'frappe'. _Stupid. Baka, _I mentally berated myself, scrubbing a hand under my runny nose. _All hail_ _Duo Maxwell, Lord of the Baka._  
  
To make matters worse, I hadn't gotten dressed yet, and I had no memory of snatching a brush through my hair and assembling the ugliest braid in history out of it. I simply didn't have the will to move. I wanted to mope, to curl up somewhere into this little ball of misery and angst, and I hated myself for even considering such pathetic thoughts. 

I couldn't blame anyone else because I chose to do this. Skipping most of the celebrations, I'd gone to L2 just long enough to settle the deal with Hilde on the business and streaked back here to find him. I fully expected Relena to still have him under lock and key at the hospital. First time she's ever dropped the ball there.  
  
I couldn't blame anyone else for ascribing meaning beyond the moment to last night. Dammit, I knew better! Isn't it amazing how we never really 'know better' until we've already committed an act of irretrievable stupidity?  
  
Worse, I knew that if I could turn back time, I'd do the exact same thing again. I'd experienced life without him before, and that nearly killed me. Simply letting go, walking away and leaving him there in the streets, had never been an option. Hell, even after I shot him I couldn't leave him to drown.

I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands and groaned. My head hurt, and my face had that uncomfortable heaviness that said I really needed to blow my nose. Soon, or my brains would start leaking down my face. It was only the shredded remnants of my pride that motivated me out of bed and towards the Kleenex. And the kah-klunk of the shower turning off helped, too. If Heero got to be clean, I should be as presentable as possible. _Shake off the self-pity for twenty seconds and pull yourself together, Maxwell_! I thought as I blew my nose fiercely.  
  
The door clicked open and I turned around in reflex. By some karmic joke our eyes collided, and I looked away first. Give that round to the contestant from Japan. "Did you have plenty of hot water?" I heard myself say, the rational part of my brain trying to collect the other jagged pieces and herd them into something resembling sense. 

_You knew this would happen, Duo, _the thoughts kept taunting me. I chunked the tissue into the trash can and firmly told my inner voice to fuck off. It was a little childish, but I didn't want him to see me as wrecked as he was yesterday. At least he had a good reason for it. His whole meaning for existence had come to an end. 

Daring another look at those forbidding, wintry eyes and remembering them so recently hot with feeling, I thought I might have a good reason, too.

***  
  
"Hai." _Look at me. Look at me so that I can pretend everything is as it was, as it's supposed to be. Just one encounter among many, a final easing of mutual need. _

I tell myself all sorts of shit and expect it to be believed. 

"Does anyone know I'm here?" I didn't care, really. It didn't matter, but the silence was becoming deafening with words unsaid. So I spoke to drown them out. 

I didn't wait for an answer, bending to collect my clothing from the floor. Turning my back to him, I let the towel fall. Why try for modesty? He'd seen me naked before, several times. The risk of further distraction at this point was minimal, I think I'd cut him sufficiently deep to guarantee that. Now it was just a matter of getting dressed and getting out of here. Simple.

The tactical part of my mind was still churning in the background, ignoring the emotional chaos that raged around it. Ultimately, it had formulated a very logical, methodical course of action. There were still chunks of Wing Zero left that were big enough to mount a salvage operation. At best it might be used as a trophy, at worst... the Zero System wasn't a toy, and at times I think it had a mind and purpose of its own. With an appropriately weak will at its disposal... I shuddered.

With any luck, the self-destruct unit would still be intact; that would take out the torso section, the largest and most dangerous piece. It seemed like a fitting way to assure peace, really. In those quiet moments at the bottom of the ocean, Zero had shown me the future, a future in which peace existed and it didn't. We are linked, Zero and I. Wing was a tool, an extension of my hands. _I_ was Zero's tool, for better or for worse. If one should cease to exist, so should the other. Besides, my Gundam was the only thing that had given my life purpose, riding with it to hell seemed the least I could do. 

I tugged my jacket on, taking a deep breath. God, Duo's scent clung to me even now. I shuddered again, trembling like a wire pulled too taut and just on the verge of breaking. I wanted to turn around and look at him, to ask him to help me. I can't fight alone anymore. I just--

I just need to end this.

"Arigatoo," I said quietly, my voice toneless. "I'm going now."  
  
***  
  
I was cold, and I felt very self-conscious standing there in nothing but a pair of navy silk boxers. "No," I said, the word tight in my throat. The blue towel had fallen away, baring him to my eyes. I glanced down, but nothing could remove the image from my mind. Suddenly I wasn't cold anymore. "Wufei knows I saw you but I didn't tell him you were here."

The slightest noise of acknowledgment rose from the collection of wiry limbs and damp hair dragging on his clothing. I held my breath and concentrated on chaste thoughts until I had body and mind leashed once more. If this were just about a roll in the hay between us, a sympathy fuck even, I would have been all right with it. Okay, maybe I'm deluding myself, but he scared the shit out of me yesterday; I wasn't about to let go until I knew he was fine.

But would he ever be fine again with Gundam a memory?

His voice broke my thoughts with a meaningless thanks and a declared intent. I saw the red of sudden anger skate across my vision. It stabbed through me like a sharp needle. In a breath, I was angry. Angry at myself for letting yesterday happen, angry at feeling hurt over the inevitable outcome, but more than anything, I was angry because Heero Yuy was going to make a liar out of me. I promised I wouldn't leave him alone, even though his fleeing would probably get me off on a technicality.

"Where?" I blurted out, running my hands up and down my bare arms to ward off the returned chill. It sounded mournful and petulant even to me; when did I get this fucking pathetic? "Why?" I asked, softer, worrying a loose chunk of my escaped hair.  
  
***  
  
"Does it matter?" I asked, my voice no louder than his had been. 

I turned around, then, and I felt myself go dead inside, eyes as flat and hard as chips of glass. This had to be done, there were no alternatives, no possibility of reprieve. Graceless, I sank down into a chair, reaching for my boots. "Wing Zero is still mostly intact. That's a risk that can't be ignored."

"I'm going to make sure that it never becomes a threat again."

***  
  
'Does it matter?' How can you ask me that? It's you; of course it matters! 

Something in the rational part of my brain began twitching, beating against my skull with what promised to be a profound revelation, but it didn't stand a chance against the drowning tide of emotion. There was something beneath the hardened surface of his eyes, something itching to get out. _To get out or get away...probably from me, _I thought_._ The pain of a rejection I should have anticipated flared anew like an explosion in my chest, raw and biting. I grabbed the back of the chair closest to me; otherwise I would have been on my knees.  
  
The human consciousness has a stunning capacity for multitasking, though. Like a sponge, I kept absorbing what little information he offered. 'I'm going to make sure that it never becomes a threat again.' Which meant he had to dispose of Wing Zero. Naturally. We had all done that. I could still feel the cool, rounded curves of the self-destruct beneath my fingers as I pressed the button and watched Deathscythe Hell obliterate itself into nothing and...  
  
Oh shit...  
  
Dammit, Heero, last night didn't fucking happen so you could throw your life away today! His head snapped up, and it was only then I realized I'd said--make that shouted--it aloud.  
  
***  
  
I stiffened, heart pounding, my lungs begging for air as my entire body ground into stillness. 

I'd underestimated him. You'd think by now that I'd know better. Or maybe, just maybe, part of me was still begging to be stopped, crying out in the darkness with a voice that I'd chosen not to hear. I dragged a slow breath into my tortured chest, analyzing the situation. 

Alright. So he knew. So what? I closed my eyes, took another deeper, shuddering breath. It didn't make any difference. Weariness was creeping over me again like the long shadows of twilight. I was ready for night to fall, felt like I'd been waiting for longer than I could remember. 

_Get up_, that inner voice warned coldly. _Walk away. Now_. 

I gathered myself to rise, but something stopped me. Something that I don't think I'll ever be able to explain. Without looking up, I asked, very quietly, "Why did last night happen?"  
  
***  
  
I shook with indignation, vibrating like a leaf in a gale. What did it take to get through to him that he mattered? If I thought it would have helped, I'd have grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to knock some sense into him. But there was only room here for one suicidal ex-terrorist.

Frustration choked my throat closed and I shoved my fingers through unruly bangs, not even wincing at the tangles. I'd gambled and lost. Sex hadn't worked; it only delayed things. Tenderness--true tenderness I could only show him while he slept--had no effect. Logic? Don't make me laugh; no one asking me for bullets to put in his skull would respond to logic. 

I was rapidly running out of options and I didn't know what to do in this desperate race to stay one step ahead of him. I let my guard down long enough to feel sorry for myself and he's ready to run for Zero and become a human firework. _Not on my watch, Yuy. _He had gone perfectly still, but I didn't trust it, no matter how the raw whistle of breath in his lungs squeezed my heart. I was fast enough to tackle him if he moved for the door, but...

'Why _did_ last night happen?' fell from the stillness of those bloodless lips.

This time it was me that froze, trapped as surely as a deer in headlights. Direct questions never fail to trip me up. Mentally, I scrambled back like an awkward crab, cursing him for using this weakness against me now. 'Why?' was the one I always had the most trouble with. I never lie, so attempting to explain things winds up in the type of convoluted, twisted mess reserved for the timelines of American comics. Besides, hadn't we'd gone over this last night? I told him it all came down to one reason: because I wanted to. 

Truth it was, but it didn't expose the man behind the curtain. While Heero is one of the most brilliant guys I have ever known, I doubted he would realize the name of the puppeteer holding my strings and directing my actions.  
  
Love.  
  
It all happened because I was purely, helplessly, passionately, and completely in love with one Heero Yuy. And I was struggling for new ways to say it without using the words. Ways to both continue telling the truth and keeping the truth from him. 

"Heero..." I swallowed hard, and my body moved on its own accord; my legs still felt gelatinous, but they supported my weight. Five steps, and I was all but toe-to-toe with him. Five steps further down the rocky road. Hurt continued to resonate in me like a discordant note, but my own pain has never failed to submit itself to soothing his.  
  
My hand shook violently--wanting to touch him, terrified to do so--as I stretched it out to him. "I wanted to help you. I couldn't stand seeing you like that." And I'm too selfish to let you put a bullet in your head just to end it all. 

I think Wufei was right back then when he called me 'pathetic'; there are times when _I_ pity me. Some days the only thing that keeps me going is my quest to prove Heero is a real human being inside, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Isn't that something straight out of a fucking shoujo manga? 

"Not just to help you," I gently said, the ache in my chest impossible to ignore. It demanded I touch him, keep touching him, keep believing. "I wanted to be with you." My fingers grazed his face, the electric sensation of skin on skin undiminished by the riveting tension stretching us both as tightly as a drawn bow. "Even if it was only for a little while, I wanted to take away your pain."  
  
My body again developed independent will and locomotion; the silk of my boxers whispered against the rough denim of his jeans as I straddled his lap. Granted, my presence might only delay him a few seconds in blowing himself and Wing Zero skyward, but sometimes a few seconds is all the difference in the world.  
  
***

_I wanted to take away your pain._

Pain. I hurt. I hurt _so_ badly. It pushed ruthlessly upwards, past the formidable barriers I'd held in place for so long. It wasn't the same. Physical hurt could be ignored, forced into the back of the mind and forgotten. This was deeper, a mortal wound.

I was already trembling so hard that I had to clench my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. My body was practically convulsing in manifestation of what was going on inside. It abruptly stilled when he touched me, drawing into absolute tension when his body came into full contact with mine. 

"Duo..." My back slammed into the back of the chair, a belated attempt at escape, to shy back from his presence. I couldn't manage to say anything else, but my eyes locked onto him. Then, without knowing why, I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his waist, resting my forehead on his shoulder.

It was too much, all of it. I was going to break, I could feel the fractures already starting, running through the flawed mold of my self. I turned my head, slowly unlacing one hand from behind his back and lifting it. I watched, fascinated, as it trembled uncontrollably. I couldn't stop it, couldn't stop anything that was happening. It was like I was watching from the outside, cursed to witness a tragedy unfold. 

A soft sound like a sob tore itself from my chest and I looked up at him. I willed him to let me go, to just go away and let what happened happen. _It's not your fault, Duo. It's just..._

God... it's just me finally going crazy.

***  
  
His legs were warm and strong against my backside. And frighteningly tense. Dancing with death as Shinigami had always meant uncertainty for me, I'm no stranger to it, but to see uncertainty staring back at me through his eyes...reemphasized just what was at stake.   
  
I opened my mouth to speak, and he touched me; never breaking eye contact, he laced his arms around me. Broken as a reed in the wind, his body folded into mine, forehead pillowing on my shoulder. Time seemed to crawl as I simply held him, willing my heart to beat for both of us, my lungs to breathe for both of us. In my mind, I could see the shattered remnants of his soul in my hands; I couldn't let go for a second or he would slip away.

Achingly slow, he raised one hand into our field of vision. It shook, and with dull eyes he stared, mesmerized by the vibrations. Mine slipped around it, holding it steady. The small, fierce tremors seemed to cascade from his skin straight into my soul. 

"Don't talk, don't think. Just be," I whispered, loathe to bring anything else into the moment but us. It was wearing me out mentally trying to keep up with his sudden mood swings, but what choice did I have? It was made the moment I knelt down in the dirty streets by him yesterday, the moment our bodies first knew no barriers between the other months ago. Maybe even from the moment I pulled the trigger of that gun.  
  
His breath broke on the air in a choked half-sob; the small sound crushed the last of my mental restraints to powder. "I'll be with you." My hands tightened over his, clutching it to my chest, pressing those shaking fingertips over the steady pulse of my heart. 

All it would have taken to repeat last night, to return to that realm where body and soul merged into one, was one kiss. One kiss to light the dynamite that exploded between us. Nothing difficult about it. I could do it; his mouth was dangerously close to mine, lower lip trembling with emotion. Already I felt my body want to move; so little effort to lean forwards and warm his lips with mine. One kiss. One direct flight back into his arms.

I sighed mentally, knowing what I wanted was inappropriate, even destructive. To simplify the complexity I held in my hands down to something another blistering, desperate lovemaking session could cure would be tantamount to slapping a Band-Aid on a mortal wound; it might temporarily staunch the flood of life draining away, but it wouldn't fix what was wrong. Heero was still bleeding to death inside; he was wounded and I didn't have a clue where the knife really was. Or if pulling it out would let him heal or mean his death. 

I turned my face downward and brought Heero's hand to my mouth, placing a soft kiss in his palm; I remember hearing somewhere that a kiss there was for a request. "Breathe," I exhaled against his skin, inhaling his scent once again as I nuzzled his fingers like a cat before protectively clasping that hand between my own again. "Just breathe, Heero. It's the first step on the path."  
  
***  
  
Breathe. It seemed an age since I had taken a breath. 

Manic desperation didn't lend itself to just breathing, just existing. It demanded action, some attempt to resolve or escape from its cause. I couldn't stop trembling, my body aching with the inner struggle that was tearing me apart. 

I want...to get... away... I want it to stop. Stop hurting me, please just stop. I'm lost, I'm dying inside. 

I need...Something to hold on to.

Default programming snapped into place abruptly and without warning. I bit my lip so hard it drew blood, struggling between accepting the clarity offered by my training and fighting it down again. That's not me, not really.

No... I guess that's not true, it's a much a part of me as anything else. And maybe if I could lock myself down to that again... maybe I could find a way to survive this. I breathed deeply, looking up at him through my bangs. "Ninmu wa nan desu ka?" I asked him softly, giving in to the soldier. 

'What is my mission?' 

***  
  
What could I say? If his universe had a center, it was the mission. Make that Mission with a capital M. He felt ready to shake apart in my arms, a ship tossed in violent, stormy waters with nothing for anchor. Existence depended on and revolved around the mission. Without the mission, there was no stability, no constant by which to measure.

Eerily, it reminded me of this guy I'd known in the Sweepers, a mechanic everybody called Tiger. Wasn't his real name, but who was I to judge on that score? There wasn't anything he couldn't fix, couldn't hack apart and put back together so it ran better than ever. Most of what I learned about parts, salvage and engineering was from him.

Tiger had this knack for everything being in its proper place. With one look, he could tell you what bolts were missing out of a wrecked suit, every little place it had taken damage. He was a walking diagnostic computer, with the steady and sharp personality to match. The first couple weeks after I met him, I went around in awe, imagining rounds of the Hallelujah Chorus whenever he walked by, he was that good.

One day I borrowed a wrench from him to pop open a comm box we'd snagged out of space. From the signal we'd been picking up, the transmitter was still good, and would fit nicely in the busted one from yesterday. If I didn't finish quick, I'd miss lunch, and now that I had food available, I wasn't about to shortchange myself. He'd already gone to the mess by the time I'd finished, so I tossed it back in the box and hurried off to grab some soup and bread.

Three bowls and a loaf later, I sauntered into the hangar and into what sounded like an argument or something. Tiger--dependable, brilliant Tiger--was huddled on the floor, screaming, hands over his ears, and two of the other guys were frantically sorting tools while G tried to calm him down.

"Duo!" The old guy's eyes tracked to me almost instantly. "Did you have the 5/8" wrench earlier?" Tiger howled, and the doc grabbed his shoulders tighter.

"Uh, yeah. I put it back in the box." I pointed towards the green one, not sure if he could hear me over the shrieking. "What's going on, anyways?"

Suddenly, I had everyone's attention, except for Tiger, who still wailed like a banshee. Pete flipped open the box and hauled out the wrench, putting it in place with the rest of them; I noticed that they were all laid out across the top of a rolling cart, in order by size from left to right.

"There, there," G said in the kindest voice I'd ever heard from him. "It's not missing. They're all there, all in their proper places. See?" He patted Tiger's hair like a mother would a child, soothing and comforting. And without so much as a by your leave, Tiger stopped caterwauling and calm fell on him like rain. He stood up, pulled G to his feet, and smiled. It was like nothing had happened.

G smiled back and turned to go, heading straight towards me. He snagged my braid in one spindly fist and dragged me out of the hangar. Didn't think the old scarecrow was that strong. Thrusting me into a chair in his small office, he explained what had happened. I didn't have enough formal education yet to really understand words like 'autism,' but he hammered one important thing into my head: Tiger functioned perfectly well as long as _nothing_ upset his routine. By putting that wrench in the wrong place, I'd collapsed his world around him. It was easily fixed then, just a matter of returning the necessary structure, but now...with Heero...

But now there was no next to move on to. No wrench to put in the right place. And with no one else to fight, no mission for the soldier, Heero Yuy's reason to live ceased to exist. I wanted desperately to tell him what to do, to fix things as easily as they had been before. I could do it. I could give him some sort of mission or reason to live--even something as simple as 'help me decide what to wear', I thought, glancing down at my absent apparel.

The air around me went cold as I realized to do that would make me no better than the scientists who tried to play God with a little boy, who sought to train and shape and mold him into a soulless killing machine that peace rendered useless. 

It carved my heart up to say the words, but Duo Maxwell doesn't lie. 

"The war is over, Heero," I whispered quietly, the full gravity of the phrase weighing my voice almost into baritone range. "There are no more orders." I swallowed hard, hating myself for being unable to give him the one thing he most needed. "No more missions."  
  
***

I have no other words for it, something inside of me snapped. Those words were like a spark to dry tinder, and the resulting explosion left nothing but wasteland for miles around. My body jerked, a physical response to what amounted to a verbal attack, but my mind was nowhere to be found. 

I remember the rest only in bits and pieces, almost like a bad movie not worth remembering. 

I think the soldier took full control, assessing a threat and acting on it. One moment Duo sat on my lap, our bodies mere inches apart, the next he sprawled on the floor, half a room away. I'd struck instinctively, grabbing for something familiar, something real. With catlike reflexes, I spun, sighting along the slim barrel of my handgun... training it on Duo's forehead.  
  
Destroy the threat... That one thought hammered like a pulsebeat inside me. Simple logic began forming again, without the benefit of higher functions to knock it down. If I had to continue, I would require parameters. Right? I shook my head, clenching my teeth against a wave of pain. Duo was a threat, he was lying to me...

Duo doesn't lie. Ever. 

"Omae o korosu," I heard it distantly, as though someone else were saying it.

_Kill him,_ the soldier urged ruthlessly. _Kill him, and then you can complete final mission objectives. He's in your way._

_But... there are no more missions..._ I started shaking again, and I had to jerk my arm back into alignment to keep the gun on target. 

_That's not true... it can't be!_ I felt like a black hole was opening up inside of me, sweeping everything I was, everything around me into its depths. What was worse? The fact that Duo might be lying to me, or that he was telling the truth?

The click of the hammer sliding home was my only answer. 

***  
  
One moment I was close enough to kiss him, the next I was smooching the floor none too gently. What is it about him that drops my guard every time? I bit back my body's grunt of protest and pushed into a sitting position, wincing because my bare elbows definitely felt rugburned. Me and my commitment to the truth. Maybe I should have gone with sex after all. 

Heero whirled around, moving so fast he was almost in slow motion, restored to real time only by the unforgiving _click-click_ of the gun being cocked. Uh, check that. The cold, cycloptic eye of the pistol stared mockingly at me and a sharp, haunting chill shot through the room. _He's pulled that gun on me more times than I can count, but this time it's different. This time he means it_. The wild, desperate expression was a vivid reminder of yesterday. 

Yesterday... but this time it's different. Vivid images of yesterday surged into my mind like still photographs and I felt my eyes widen in shock. Of the two of us, only I realized how different today was.  
  
I held my hands up slightly, as if by some miracle Shinigami could forestall or duck a bullet in mid-air. Yeah, right; I'm fast, but I'm not _that_ fast. "My life has been yours to have or take away for a long time, Heero," I admitted, my throat catching on the words; it wasn't quite a confession, but I'd come farther in twenty-four hours towards telling him my real feelings than I ever had. 

Still keeping my hands in the universal gesture for surrender, I got my feet under me and inched into a standing position.  
  
***  
  
My eyes flicked to the gun I held, and then shuttered briefly closed. 

Realization slashed into me like a knife. What I meant to do, why I was doing it... combined with the rest of the pain it became nearly unbearable. I clenched my jaw, my face contorted into a grimace of pure agony... But I couldn't put the gun down. 

"I don't have to kill anymore," I grated, feeling as though every word were carved from my flesh. I'm not sure who I said them for, although I suspect they were directed to my inner demons as much as to the person I was currently trying to kill. I'd made a choice, had been prepared to die to ensure that decision was carried through. Didn't that mean something?

No. It meant nothing. Nothing at all.

I could feel ghosts in the air around me, burning holes in my skin with their accusing stares. They gathered closer, enjoying the show. Either way they'd have satisfaction, ne? This was a tragedy unfolding, for which they held front-row seats.

I felt the specter of Wing Zero at my back, spreading deceptively angelic wings around me, holding me in death's embrace. It was my escort across that final border crossing between sanity and chaos. You'll never escape, it whispered softly, and I realized that it had always been watching, savoring the lives I fed to it. Now that I'd tried to free myself, this pain, this torture, was my punishment. And now... it wanted Duo, too.

Wings of shattered glass sealed me in their cocoon, and I gasped as it showed me the future.

Nothing.

***  
  
Misery burned through me like acid. Heero's misery. He was in an horrifying downward spiral and I wasn't falling fast enough to catch him. Yesterday he had been unstable and weary, but despite the rock-solid sighting of the gun trained on me, I felt today's Heero was infinitely more fragile, more brittle than yesterday's. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck to skate between my shoulder blades as ex-Gundam pilot and gun stared at me. 

Steadying my legs, I nodded slow agreement, covertly inching forward towards him. Stealth, after all, was my tactic of choice. "Hai, you don't have to kill anymore, Heero." God, I wanted to lock him in a fierce, protective embrace for eternity, to take all his pain for my own so he wouldn't have to suffer any more. The urge choked through me; I've never felt this way about anyone or anything. It kills me to see you like this, powerless to stop what's hurting you. 

His eyes were wild, tumultuous seas, rolling and tossing in an elemental battle. In a desperate attempt to calm the storm, I took what he said a step farther, willing him to understand it wasn't too late. We could do this together. "You don't have to be a weapon anymore."  
  
***

I don't have to kill anymore.

'My life is my own. I won't be controlled.' The thoughts welled up from the darkness, spoken in a still, quiet voice that I slowly recognized as my own. The owner of that voice looked out through my eyes, locked onto the one thing in the world that meant something to me.

I gathered strength from that contact, wearily made a last-ditch effort to fight. 

"All I am is a weapon," I said softly. "I don't know how to be anything else." Another breath, another few heartbeats. "There has to be peace sometime." I swallowed convulsively. "We fought so hard...killed so many. It can't be for nothing. I won't let it." A renewed wave of anguish washed over me, reflecting in my eyes. It nearly killed my effort to fight... and then I realized that I just didn't have the strength to hold on any longer. 

"The weapons have to be destroyed," I whispered hoarsely. 

"Their _only_ purpose is to kill."  
  
***  
  
"Chigau." _You're wrong. _The breathless denial passed my lips. _You're not just a weapon! You're so much more than that! _my mind screamed as my heart kept crumbling. I'd lost count of the atrocities I owed J for planting these beliefs so deeply in Heero's psyche. 

_You don't have to know how. I'll show you, I'll teach you. We'll learn it all together. Just don't let go._

"Listen to me." Was that calm voice mine? I didn't recognize it. "The weapons have already been destroyed. You, me, Wufei, Trowa, Quatre....we were only weapons because of our Gundams." I had scooted almost within touching distance of him; the gun still stared at me, but I wasn't afraid. He needed me. What was a gun compared to that? 

"We were weapons because our colonies needed us to be. They didn't have the strength or means to resist on their own." Unbidden, as though summoned by the word 'colonies', images arose of young children on the streets of L2. War orphans. How many more kids like me did I create? I swallowed tightly at that thought, but now wasn't the time to dwell on my own reckonings. Not with Heero teetering so close to the brink. He was worth any cost, even my soul and its hope of redemption.  
  
"Now, the Earth and the colonies have peace. Together. It's here, we have peace." No matter the cost, peace had been achieved for the rest of humanity. And I would fight Hell itself to bring it to Heero at last.

"The Gundams have been destroyed, Heero. What made us weapons is gone. That part of our lives is over," I insisted. Pouring my gaze unwaveringly into his, I stretched out one hand and closed it around the cool, hard barrel of the gun. "We're _not_ weapons any more." 

I shook the gun just slightly; no ammunition rattled in it. Yesterday...he'd asked me for bullets because he had none. His gun wasn't loaded. It wasn't a weapon. 

"We're just like this gun," I whispered, willing him to understand. "Empty. We can't hurt anyone anymore."  
  
I waited for the thoughts to process, for _something_ from him, but he just kept staring at the gun, at my lean fingers curled around it. My hand not in shared possession of the pistol tightened into a frustrated fist. _Dammit, Heero, say something!_ "What else can I do to make you understand how fucking important you are?" 

Amazingly, he flinched...for Heero, that meant he blinked. My voice was rising, God only knew what the rest of the people in the hotel must think, but I didn't care. "Killing has _never_ been your only purpose! As long as someone needs you, Yuy, you have purpose!" My voice was raw, agonized, but I didn't care. All I cared about was him. 

"Don't you get it? _I_ need you!"  
  
***

Need. God, I need something. I stared at him blindly, my mind racing, trying to understand, to comprehend. Need. What did it mean? Why did it kindle this sudden pain that was not pain... why did I want to hear him say it again?

I need you. 

Duo... I recoiled from the gun as though burned by its frigid metal. I need Duo. 

_I've always...needed you. _I continued to stare, struggling for a foothold in this new revelation. 

_My life is my own..._

I'd known the moment I saw him in that prison cell, as soon as I found him alive, that nothing would ever be the same again. I'd struggled with it, rejected it, but whether I liked it or not, the world had changed. I guess this was the moment I could let go of that denial for good, if I chose. 

_I won't be controlled..._

Needing him wasn't enough, but it had never occurred to me that he might need me too. Something so simple, seemingly insignificant... and yet it was like the touch of water to the lips of a dying man. My world would never be the same, because in that brief moment I found a reason to live, one that gazed back at me with impassioned violet eyes. Eyes I could drown in, that I could deny nothing. Especially now, when I had nothing in the world but those eyes. 

They held me, refused to let me go... and with a slow, shuddering breath, I made a choice not to. More than that, I made a promise to stay, to try and find a way to keep going. There was something to fight for here, something important, if not to the world... then to us. I would stay, and protect him, with my last breath. 

"Wakatta," I said softly. I reached out, hesitantly, like I couldn't believe this moment was real and not some interlude of a waking nightmare. Then our hands met, and I knew. It was real.  
  
***  
  
"Baka," I half-whispered, feeling one corner of my mouth turn up in an involuntary, crooked smile. "I need you." The gun wobbled in my hand and I dropped it, kicking the vile thing under the bed. I didn't want to see it, I didn't want him to see it. I didn't think I could go through this again.  
  
I couldn't begin to describe what happened next. I felt like a sleeper waking from a long dream, only to find reality sweeter than any fantasy. Heero Yuy...reached out to me. He stretched out a sinewy, tanned hand towards me, this time awaiting my response with oddly tentative eyes.

I have looked into, far into, those eyes of his many, many times, but they have never returned my gaze quite the same way before. My heart throbbed with conflicting emotions, exposing and affirming all at once. I felt defenseless and vulnerable and...and wonderful. It reminded me of how snakes shed their old, dull skin to reveal brilliant new colors beneath. There were things in that look that seemed to reach right down inside me and tickle my soul. 

I lifted my hand to his and laced my fingers through Heero's, closing my eyes as the skin-on-skin contact burned. I folded them down and gripped tightly; his hands are so strong they are almost marvels of science, but wrapped around mine they were the soul of gentleness. The soul of Heero. More than anything, the touch reinforced what I had told him. He wasn't a weapon, wasn't a killer anymore. Nothing with hands fit only for death could have so tender a touch.

"Wakatta," I repeated. I had no idea what would happen between us from this point, but I found myself not entirely caring. We had a beginning, a real beginning, at last.  
  
***  
  
I felt...exhausted. Nightmares had chased me into sleep, keeping me from any real peace. That in combination with the tension and turmoil of the last few minutes made staying on my feet difficult. I managed it, I also managed to keep the fatigue from showing. Broken or not, I think I will always be a soldier to the core.  
  
I reached, captured a strand of Duo's hair. The sensations stirred up by that simple contact was only confirmation that I was well and truly insane. My thoughts only moments ago had been of death, now they centered on the boy whose hand clasped tightly with mine. One moment I was at the brink, the next I felt surprisingly calm, unexpectedly buoyed up out of the grasp of chaos by Duo's offhand admission. He needs me. That inner voice was soft, wondering...awed. 

I'm not stupid, nor am I blind. I've known there was something between us for a long time, I just didn't know what to call it. I still don't. I do have feelings, but they're too fledgling and new to have a name or a real meaning. In war they were a dangerous liability. I never expected them to be the key that held me to life.  
  
I still didn't know what any of it meant. I only knew that I meant what I'd said. He gave me what I needed, a reason to cling to life, to find my way out of the shadows in which I still stood. It wasn't over, I had demons to fight that had yet to show their faces... but he needed me, and I accepted that charge. No one and nothing gets in my way once I have accepted a mission. There is reassurance in that absolute.  
  
"Can I hold you?" I asked hesitantly, suddenly feeling shy. It was as though I walked a path that seemed familiar, but in a half-remembered way that made me afraid of making a wrong step. "I need to..." I swallowed hard, closed my eyes. "I need to feel alive again."  
  
***  
  
He touched my hair, and I nearly lost it then. Biology tells us that our hair is essentially dead--it grows, sure, but in actuality it's merely a keratin byproduct like fingernails--but I don't think that's entirely accurate. How else could sensation funnel up the strands, permeate into my scalp, and quiver down my neck to jettison out through every nerve ending in my body like a tazer blast? I love having my hair touched--to me, it's more arousing than actual sex. Having Heero touch my hair...I wondered why I hadn't completely lost molecular cohesion.  
  
I didn't think I was dreaming, but if I was, I wanted to never wake. Joy--true joy--has been such a rarity in my life, every precious moment stolen. As good a thief as I am, one would think I'd have been able to steal more of them. 

I couldn't steal this one; it could only be freely given. Clumsy and unsure, Heero reached out and placed a trembling soul into equally-trembling hands with a single question. Slowly, I realized that his body wasn't the only thing he'd bared to me in the past twenty-four hours. Nor was it the most important.  
  
I tried to laugh; I think I sobbed. "Please..."  
  
Since I saw him yesterday, he had begged for death. Now, ironically, Death begged for him.  
  
***  
  
I pulled him to me, untangling our fingers so that I could slip my arms around his waist. He was slight and strong all at once, vibrant life radiating from him like sunlight. Duo calls himself Death, for me he was life incarnate. He was my life, in a way I'd never realized or accepted until that moment. Maybe because, until now, I'd been unable to let anything, even him, come between me and my role in the war. Now there was nothing between us.  
  
I ceased to think, letting the gentle buffer of fatigue settle over me and put my searching mind at rest. Turning my head, I breathed in his scent, rubbing my cheek against the silk of his hair. Drifting lower, I pressed my lips to the curve of his ear, then the line of his jaw, slowly making my way to his lips. Then I kissed him.  
  
***  
  
His mouth was warm, inviting, and with a slight intake of breath, as though courage was something that could be inhaled, I kissed him back, forgetting pretense and consequences and a wealth of other things that, strangely, no longer mattered. Muscles rippled under my fingers, strong and powerful. In so many ways, I had always felt weak next to him, training and possible genetically-enhanced abilities aside. Weak because I didn't have that same ability to see life only in terms of the mission.  
  
But now there was no more mission. Nothing but the beat of two hearts and the gasp of two breaths. 

In that spiderwebbed silence, Sister's favorite verse rose to my mind like a gentle, comforting breeze, as though she were whispering her approval to me. 'Two are better than one; for they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift the other up: but pity the man who is alone when he falls and has no one to help him up. Again, if two lie together, they have heat: but how can one be warm alone? And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; a threefold cord is not quickly broken.' [1]

A sort of desperate hope bloomed in me, unfurling and flooding over the score of broken dreams that littered the landscape of my soul. A strong wind could have blown either of us over, but not both. 

Apart, we had been nothing; together, a fragile sense of something was awakening.

***  
  
[1] The Bible, Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, New King James Version


	4. Innocence Faded 4

Innocence Faded Part 4

_I could get very used to waking up next to you._   
  
There is comfort in quiet moments. I have never been much for silence; it's always felt like there's too much frenetic, _living_ energy trapped inside me not to speak. Speaking makes things real; it has the power to transmute into existence the abstract firings of neurons that make up thought.   
  
But there are some times when thought itself is enough.   
  
Dead to the world, Heero lay on his side, one hand curled under the pillow as if to edge it further down under his chin, hair awkwardly tousled, blankets knotted around one leg and leaving the other bared almost to the hip. He's usually a restless sleeper--we both are, actually; if you didn't have nightmares before becoming a Gundam pilot, you definitely do after, and the war just ending hadn't changed things--and more than once last night I'd stirred just enough into wakefulness to become aware that we were holding--no, make that 'clinging to'--one another. 

I don't know who reached for whom first, but our unconscious minds together chose to confirm the decision we had reached with our conscious ones. We need each other. Beyond that, nothing really matters.   
  
At least, that was the thought I woke up with. Twenty minutes of silent contemplation of the universal morning-after question--'so now what?'--had left me more than a bit dizzy. Wufei's suggestion kept rolling over in my mind like waves to the shore, but I didn't know if I was ready. Granted, the notion of just lying in my bed forever, contentedly snuggled against the warm, strong, and thoroughly masculine body of Heero Yuy, rather seemed a better idea.   
  
Only it wasn't my bed. And as fond as I am of room service and hotel sheets, it still amounted to a rootless, drifter-like existence. It was exactly what we had as Gundam pilots, and exactly what we sought to escape. We needed a place of our own, and I hadn't a clue how to go about acquiring one. I've never really bought anything in my life; I've either stolen it, bartered for it, or received it. And somehow, I figured stealing a house would be a little harder than food or transportation.   
  
So I did what any other sensible Gundam pilot would do...   
  
***   
  
"Winner Enterprises, Quatre speaking."   
  
"Quatre, it's Duo."   
  
"Duo! Where have you been? We missed you the other night. It isn't like you to skip celebrations." The scold was gentle as Quatre laced his fingers together, but threads of worry and concern neatly stitched themselves into his features.   
  
_What is it with the direct questions from everyone?_ "Gomen, Quatre," I said, distractedly rubbing the back of my head. "I had something pretty important to take care of." _Or, rather, someone_. He nodded, apparently satisfied with my answer despite the emotions shrouding his face. That has to be one of the things I love and admire most about him; deception really isn't in his nature, and consequently he perceives those he cares about the same way. Though, the angelic-faced Mr. Winner has an unusual talent for knowing exactly what is going on and being patient enough to wait for you to say it. "I'm sorry to call for something so selfish, but I need a favor."   
  
Quatre sighed, dropping his chin into one hand wearily. "The war's only been over for a week, Duo. You don't need me to bail you out already, do you?"   
  
My mouth fell open; his expression was so mournful it took me a full sixty seconds of silence and another thirty of indignant sputtering before I realized he was kidding. Or maybe it was because he started snickering. Forget what I said about Quatre not being deceptive; he isn't normally, so he always catches you with your pants down. "Kuso," I muttered under my breath, but listening to him laugh made not-laughing seem wrong. Absurd, even. Despite everything the events of the past two days had wrought on my emotions, I found I still had laughter in me. It wasn't until we calmed down that I wondered if maybe he hadn't done all of that on purpose, just to reassure me that I _could_ laugh. After all, this was Quatre, who's often more in touch with our feelings than we are. "If we're finished making light of my non-imprisonment," I said at last, suddenly more than a little self-conscious, "I need to buy a house."   
  
Flaxen eyebrows drew down soberly, the eyes beneath them liquid with compassion. "Duo, if you need a place to stay..."   
  
I shook my head so fiercely my braid slapped my face. "No, that's not it!" I snapped harshly, gasping in a few deep breaths while I struggled for the best way to convey what I felt. Oddly enough, it never occurred to me to simply _feel_ it and let Quatre's empathic sense do the rest. "I don't need a place to stay," I said at last, something like a plea in the words. "I need a home."   
  
To his credit, Quatre's only sign of surprise was a slight widening of his expressive eyes before they softened into that adorable, soul-wrenching smile. The fingers of one hand fluttered absently in a circular motion against his chest. "I understand," he said softly. Considering everything I knew of his relationship with Tall, Dark, and Tacit, the words held more for me than the normal obligatory comfort. Quatre _did_ understand, and not because of his space heart. "There's just something about having your own territory," he continued, gold-tipped eyelashes lowering slightly, as though he were imparting something special and secret to me, "a small part of existence that belongs only to you."   
  
I sat there, stunned, my mouth wide open; I don't think he could have stated it better if he'd thrust his hand down my throat and physically wrenched out my emotions in a knotty, quivering mass. "Did you have something in particular in mind?"   
  
Still speechless, I nodded as Quatre cupped his chin in one hand and leaned forwards towards the vidscreen. The early afternoon sun in his office seemed to whisper through the window, parting the filmy curtains to burnish his hair almost-gold, a faint corona of light--not unlike the few paintings of the saints I'd seen in Maxwell Church--haloing his head. He looked unreal, ethereal, and far too beautiful to hint at mortality.   
  
Yet, the sum focus of his reverent attention was on me. It reminded me that I've always been a little in awe of him. Okay, make that a lot. Very few men, much less a slip of a boy, can command the undying respect and loyalty of an entire legion of troops. And a face that angelic shouldn't be connected to the hand of a marksman and the mind of a strategist.   
  
He named Heero the soul of outer space, but Quatre is the soul of the Gundam pilots. He is our conscience, our uniting force. No one else could make a team from the scattered, fragmented pieces of fierce independence and alienation that comprised us all.   
  
But, the war was finally over. And with chameleon-like adaptation--in no small part due to Trowa's influence on him, I thought--Quatre had seamlessly slipped back into that other life he held between the back-to-back threats to the Earth and the colonies, down to the navy pinstriped suit, impeccably pressed white oxford and bold crimson tie. In them, he looked oddly...comfortable. He was all at once the Quatre I knew and yet a stranger. An adult. Not that any of us had retained much of boyhood except our physical stature, and that was sure to change soon. I wouldn't have been at all surprised to wake up and find Heero six inches taller than me.   
  
Suddenly, my face flushed; I knew I had drifted and left Quatre patiently waiting for me to elucidate, his vid image's hands neatly folded atop the desk. "Gomen," I said again, drawing back to the matter on the table, as it were. "I don't have any white picket fence or neatly manicured lawn requirements, but...I'd like for it to be near some water. We never had much water on L2..." 

My hands, which tended to nervously fidget, gripped one another tightly to keep still, and I stared down at them as though I found the interlacing fingers, whitened knuckles and faint blue veins infinitely fascinating. I can talk with ease about most anything, even matters that would make a great many people blush, but this was something far more intimate, more private than I ever shared. Even with Heero. It touched on a past I had done much to bury and everything to atone for, failing miserably on both counts.   
  
When he spoke, Quatre's voice was very gentle and yet faintly amused. "It's a grand irony that you'd ask someone of desert descent for help in finding a house by water." I glanced up and he was smiling again, once more completely the Quatre I recognized. "Daijoubu, Duo. I'll go over some listings with the agency that handles our acquisitions and have them send a representative out to see you. Is four your time all right?" I glanced at the clock on the wall and nodded. That gave me an hour to tell Heero, and I would need every second of it. "I'll call you later to see how it went."   
  
It wasn't until the screen went dark that I realized Quatre hadn't asked where I was staying. I took a quick look to make sure my pants weren't down again.   
  
***   
  
It's a little embarrassing to admit that you can't sleep because the bed feels lonely. The feeling was strange, a little annoying even, because I'd never really encountered it before. Stuff like that just totally trashes your reputation. I snorted, looking around the bedroom to get my bearings, ears pricking as I caught the sound of Duo's voice coming from the other room. It made me relax...and rethink the idea of springing   
from the bed and rushing naked from the room in search of him.

How pathetic is that? 

I snorted again, this time with a touch more amusement. It almost qualified as a laugh. Almost. As mornings went, this one was considerably more pleasant than the one before it. Pain and confusion were still   
lurking in the corners of my psyche, but they were giving me some breathing room at last. Held in check, I think, by the bond we'd forged yesterday.  
  
I took a deep breath and untangled myself from the blankets, hunting around for my jeans and finally finding them halfway under the bed. Tugging them on, I headed for the sound of his voice... and stopped short in the half-opened doorway, listening.  
  
"A house." I said it louder, and perhaps a bit more harshly than I'd meant it, but... A house, what did that mean? Was he leaving? Uncertainty grabbed at me and I smacked it down impatiently. Clarification. That's all it needs. It means something else.

"A house," I repeated, still trying to reason through that particularly cryptic subject. The logic refused to resolve itself for me. "What do you need a house for?"   
  
***  
  
Instead of the 'good afternoon' I'd planned to greet Heero with, the first thing off my lips was a bitter expletive. Largely because I jumped when he spoke, and a very large desk got in the way of my knee. I staggered back into the chair, gingerly rubbing the spot where I felt a knotted bruise already rising.   
  
Gradually, like an overtaxed computer, my mind separated the surprise of Heero speaking from what he had spoken in order to analyze the latter. '_What do you need a house for?_' he demanded. Guess that meant he'd overhead me talking with Quatre. _Well, it's not like it could stay a secret._ Still wincing, I looked over at him; his eyes were visible behind the protective shelter of his bangs, not nearly as unruly now that he'd awakened, and they held a wariness whose motivation I couldn't completely discern.   
  
Nevertheless, I plunged on. "Getting a permanent address has always been a goal of mine." My words were deceptively light, because I wasn't at all sure how to interpret his gaze. "Hotels are nice and the odd safehouse has its charm, but I thought it was time to bite the bullet and get a piece of real estate. Someplace to come home to."  
  
***   
  
The uncertainty factor started climbing, unabated by Duo's forced cheerfulness. I'd caught him off-guard, that much was obvious. So why was he acting like I'd caught him at something he didn't want me to know about? A furrow settled in on my forehead and I clenched my teeth slightly, not at all liking what I was sensing. I strove more for displeasure than anxiety, however. The one felt more productive than the other. 

Besides, I was getting tired of acting like I was totally out of control...even if I was.  
  
Narrowing my eyes, I studied his face for several moments. "Have you already forgotten?" I asked him quietly, choosing my course of attack. It was a valid enough choice, the war had only been over for a week. The fighting had come to an end, but that didn't make the world any safer. Especially not for former Gundam pilots. "Staying in one place is dangerous."   
  
***   
  
I should have known. I should have known you can take the soldier out of the war, but you can't take the war out of the soldier. Not without time or frontal lobotomy, neither of which seemed immediately available options. "I haven't forgotten," I replied curtly, perhaps a bit shorter than I meant to, inexplicable hurt blossoming at his words. No, I didn't forget. Nearly every one of my memories of the war was in one way or another neatly wrapped, packaged and tied with tight knots to those of Heero Yuy, and for better or for worse I could never forget a thing about him.   
  
I blew breath out of my nose in slight frustration--frustration not exactly with him, but with the germinating need inside me. The need to somehow give this fragile union a tangible sense of permanence. "Moving around constantly is no less dangerous," I pointed out, for we'd collectively been discovered many times. "It's a habit we learned as part of the war. A habit that needs breaking." It wasn't the only one, but I decided to take my victories where I could get them. 

My focus went back on my hands; at this rate, I would have the tracery of capillaries and veins memorized by nightfall. "It would be nice to find someplace to belong," I added without meeting his eyes, my chest suddenly very tight.   
  
***   
  
My frown deepened. The knot in my chest tightened. The answer that I realized I was searching for hadn't materialized. That, and I had the oddest sense that there was something about this that I wasn't quite grasping. Beyond the slowly festering core of uncertainty, all I could see was the danger inherent in what he proposed. A danger that caused me a little thrill of panic that I barely recognized and ruthlessly suppressed. I had to protect Duo, that need was so tightly linked with the healing of my as-yet-unraveled psyche that failure was unthinkable. Not unless I wanted to revisit the low point I'd hit the day before.   
  
He didn't stop at simple explanation, though, continuing to deeper, more treacherous territory.   
  
_It would be nice to find someplace to belong._ That hit my insecurities dead-on. The closest thing I'd ever had to a home was the cockpit of a Gundam. The Gundams no longer existed, leaving me as much a drifter as ever. Beyond that, was a silent cry of hurt, of protest:   
  
_You belong with me! Isn't that what we said last night?_  
  
I refused to admit that a part of me was afraid that his plans didn't include me. Knowing Duo, that wouldn't be enough to forestall him. I took a deep breath, still studying him with the same intensity I felt. "This is not a good idea," I said at last, at a loss for anything else to say.   
  
***   
  
Did I have doubts that settling down was the right thing to do? Why else wouldn't my eyes track to his? But the doubts, even considering Heero's justified objections to this foray into normalcy, weren't strong enough to battle this new need into submission. Amazing when an idle thought taps into a soul-deep well of desire and longing you never knew was there.   
  
"It's probably not a good idea," I admitted, my hands tensing and releasing. "But I want a home. I need one." _We need one._ "I want...'a small part of existence that belongs only to us.' Someplace that stays still when the rest of the world spins around it. Someplace we can come home to." Unless we made this important change, I believed the war would never truly leave us. Like the enduring presence of Shinigami in my soul, the conflict of war and the scars it left would together stalk us without fail, hungrily waiting for their prey to weaken and fall.   
  
I raised my eyes then, willing him to understand with my gaze. I couldn't explain it, not completely; all I could do was feel it. "This is something I _have_ to do, Heero." My throat constricted suddenly, choking down the selfishness of my thought, but the air fairly vibrated with the unspoken conclusion.  
  
_With or without you._  
  
***   
  
"We? I thought--"  
  
We. One moment I nearly sagged with relief, the next...  
  
He didn't have to say the words. I heard them, loud and clear. I shut my mouth, I'm ashamed to admit I even flinched. It wasn't a threat or an ultimatum, it wasn't even a demand. He told me what he wanted, and left the choice to me. We both knew what the ultimate price of that choice would be. One night of sleep couldn't work miracles, I didn't have the strength to risk that he might make good on it.   
  
"Wakarimasu," I said quietly, dropping my eyes and looking anywhere but at him. I was angry that I felt this way, angry that I was letting him force me into choosing. Most of all I was angry with myself for giving in. I suppose, in the long run, it was a small sacrifice to make. But... I don't know, it hurt that he'd ask me to make it.  
  
***   
  
Even knowing we were together taking a step in the right direction, his downcast eyes made the victory hollow at best. I felt incredibly low; hadn't I breathed a promise of protection in his sleeping ear? "Gomen nasai," I offered automatically; cultural and linguistic differences aside, the Japanese custom of apologizing even when there was no fault had become second nature around Heero Yuy.   
  
I didn't quite know how to put into further words the sea of feeling inside me. More than anything, I wanted this island of stability to share with him. I wanted a place of refuge where we would belong, and where we would belong to one another. A place with no war and no pain, for we would bring far too much of that on our own.   
  
Anything else we might have said evaporated with the chime of the clock and the sudden, insistent banging at the door. Exactly four o'clock; I wondered idly if everything Quatre did was executed with such military accuracy. Then again, I supposed business was also a kind of war; difference in venue and weaponry the only means of separation between the two. "I think that's our agent." Heero was kind enough to offer a noncommittal noise as I strolled over to the door and unlocked it, swinging it open to greet...the back of Relena's head?   
  
_Oh, shit._   
  
I should have guessed she'd find us, especially with Heero walking out of the hospital like he had. I just didn't expect it to be so soon. I could feel the panicked scream rising from somewhere deep within me, a long-suppressed cry of impotent rage at ojousan's inability to simply leave me alone with Heero Yuy. [1] He was finally mine, and I refused to give any quarter to her.   
  
As though she sensed the quivering tension flaring about her, she turned her head back towards me, wide brown eyes sheltered behind wire-framed glasses, and the scream downgraded to an 'eep' of horrified surprise rather like an abortive hiccup. 

Brown eyes. Glasses. 

_Not Relena, not Relena,_ my mind chanted feverishly, desperately latching onto the multitude of differences between Relena and...Relena light. Diet Relena. One-calorie Relena. Did I mention the effect repressed hysteria has on me? Still, the mere notion that there were two women in the whole universe who wore those absurd little braids left my heart in dire need of a jump-start.   
  
"Mr. Maxwell?" she queried in a very self-assured but adolescent-sounding voice. I nodded dumbly. "I'm Becky Peterson with Sanctuary Real Estate." She held out her hand and treated me to a winning, feminine smile; even at her stalker best, Relena wasn't this perky, and I found myself slowly relaxing, the tension unknotting itself from my spine. "There's a car waiting to take us to the airport. The properties you are to be shown are all in America." 

Her gaze slid over to Heero, mild curiosity illuminating the honeyed flecks in her eyes. "Will you be joining us, Mister...?" she prompted.   
  
***   
  
The last time I'd seen Relena had been in the hospital a few days ago. She'd been fussy, concerned, and thoroughly distracted by claiming a sovereign place in the new world order. Call it instinct, call it good observational skills, I never took the woman at the door for Relena for more than the half-second it required to dismiss the similar hairstyles. She didn't have the arrogance, nor the charisma. Say what you will of Relena, she has a way of drawing people to her, of making them see the worthiness of her cause. It even happened to me, at least for a little while.  
  
I watched Duo nearly jump out of his skin with no small touch of satisfaction. Served the baka right. Ok, I admit it, I was still a little pissed. 

I left off observing him to watch Becky Peterson instead. "Yuy," I provided helpfully as her gaze swept my way. "Yes." That was all the answer she required, that was all I intended to give her. Duo was stuck with me, whether I liked it or not.  
  
Not that it really mattered, I would have followed him to the ends of the earth either way.

***

[1] "Ojousan" is what Duo normally calls Relena in the series. There are many meanings of the word, with a literal one being 'someone else's daughter'. It's also a polite way to refer to a young female, as the o- prefix is used as an honorific. A frequent connotation I've seen in anime for ojousan--and what is implied here--is 'rich girl', frequently one who is spoiled and somewhat bratty. The 'ojousan' girl is a common character archetype in anime, especially shoujo anime.


	5. Innocence Faded 5

Innocence Faded Part 5

Blue. Endless blue, undulating in rhythmic ribbons below and stretching in expansive emptiness above. Over the ocean, the eye can perceive nothing save the infinite azurine spectrum, and only the occasional, faint reflection, rather like a tiny, persistent radar echo, of interspersed amethyst from the window hinted at existence beyond the reigning shades. I blinked, and the reflection dissipated back into blues.   
  
Ocean. Sky. Two things I thought I would never truly see growing up on L2. Yeah, the colony matrix generated something approximating the reflective properties of Earth's atmosphere, but the slightly grey-kissed heavens had always vibrated with a subtle tang of wrongness. Even if we're born in space, do we long for home? Real home? Is it indelibly written in the infinite mystery that defines us as human? Or stamped right into our very genetic code? Fighting a war and piloting a Gundam had left little time for sightseeing and otherwise experiencing the wonder of the home planet. 

Admittedly, during the times Heero and I were masquerading in schools and that too-tiny room simply couldn't contain me, I wandered quite a bit, but it was never enough. The mission always called me away from what I wanted to do most.   
  
Live.   
  
I had embraced nothing but Death since I was a child. Death was the only thing I believed in. It was the only certainty a boy with no family and broken faith could cling to. And in believing, I became Death. Bringer of Death. Shinigami.   
  
Imagine, then, the irony of an attempted suicide breathing life into me. The day Heero flung himself out that window, ready to fall to his death or to become so much human refuse cast on the cliffs...awoke something in me. Desire might be a good word for it. Passion. Fire. Lust. Not for his body--not yet, at least--but for his soul. For the utter, unswerving commitment he possessed. A fierce, powerful phoenix rose ascendant from the blackened ashes of Shinigami in my heart. A will, a need, to live; not merely to exist and be classified as alive, but to truly live.   
  
Since then, I've tried to minimize and simplify it in my mind as merely the infinite force of the universe striving for balance; this psycho seemed destined to be my partner in crime and warfare, and thus my urge to survive must stand fast against his to perish.   
  
But Duo Maxwell doesn't lie, even to himself. Something in me dedicated itself from that moment to living for him. To showing him that there was more to life than dying. At first, I think it was sheer stubbornness; I wasn't about to let Mister Congeniality get the better of me. I persisted, I pestered, I dragged him places whenever I could, never receiving any sign of progress but unwilling to admit defeat. When it made him mad, or irritated, or anything but indifferent, I celebrated, for it meant I was winning. I had made him _feel._   
  
Some days I don't think I really believe in God. Or Shinigami. But oddly enough I find myself with far more faith in that mythical, half-baked notion of an infinite force in the universe, one that demands balance. Why wasn't Heero able to pull that trigger and put a bullet in my brain? Why didn't I suffocate on the moon? Why didn't Deathscythe self-destruct for me? Simple; the balance hadn't yet been achieved. I don't think I'll die until it has. Heero's still alive; I'm still winning the battle.   
  
Suddenly weary, I closed my eyes. _But this war is far from over._   
  
***   
  
Upon reflection, I realized that I was preparing myself for this as I would a mission. It was either that or be terrified. I don't do well with terrified, and I'd been feeling that way a little too much for my comfort of late. My own insecurities had been laid to rest, thankfully, so I spent the time on the plane going over the remaining possible strategies in my mind. Duo was hell-bent on this plan, to the point of playing less than fairly when it came to securing my approval for it. It didn't bode well for the possibility of deterring him from it. 

Therefore I dismissed that course of action as being inefficient. The remainder of the choices involved damage control. Exerting my influence over the choice being made seemed the only real answer. I think it was a means to find a little control when my life had spiraled so violently out of control.   
  
That begged the question, why did this disturb me so much? I felt a twinge of shame at being so unnerved by what should have been an irrelevant subject. A house was nothing more than a place of shelter. Duo's demand for permanence was a potential security hazard, but the hazard could be minimized with caution. I kept finding little answers like that, they weren't necessarily the most efficient answers, but they fell within acceptable levels. 

Realization came slowly, mostly because I didn't want to accept what I already knew to be true. Dying would have been easy. The book would have been closed on the tragic affairs of Heero Yuy, and I never would have needed to be more than a soldier. A soldier forged of cold steel and ice.   
  
Living was the hard part. I had my reason for staying alive and I would not forsake it, but a soldier was not required to be happy, to know joy or peace or...love. Part of me knew that this was what his desire for a house was all about. He considered it the first step on a long road, a path designed to teach me what he knew by instinct, and had been beaten out of me long ago.  
  
I closed my eyes, searching for an answer. The question being, of course, was I willing to learn?  
  
***   
  
I woke up when Heero shook me awake, the sudden influx of sunshine painfully bright against my eyes. I scrunched them shut and with a protesting moan tried to curl back against my pillow. It moved, rising and falling in what sounded rather like an impatient sigh. One eye cracked back open, giving me a bleary view of Heero's shirt. Added to that was the growing awareness of a not-unpleasant weight across my shoulders and a feathery flirtation by something with the fine baby-hairs on the back of my neck, the ones that didn't fit into my braid. Try as I might, none of these disconnected sensations seemed to come together into a cohesive thought. I closed my eye again and took a deep, luxurious breath.   
  
Both eyes snapped open this time. Every inch of my being knew that scent. I must have made to jerk upright, for that weight held fast, securing me in place. I felt a rumbling beneath my cheek--vibrations traveling up from the chest, some semi-conscious part of me chimed in--and the touch of strong, agile fingers against the top of my head, stroking my sleep-tousled hair back into order. Carefully. Gently.   
  
Reverently?   
  
A warm sensation started just below my rib cage, rising like bread dough to fill every space inside me with shining joy. Heero had let me sleep on his shoulder, draped an arm around me and played with my hair. All incredibly tender things simultaneously incongruous with and appropriate to him. I glanced up at him, found his eyes beneath the lowered shades of his lashes. "How long?" I asked, my voice rather sleep-scratchy.   
  
He shrugged with his other shoulder. "Not quite two hours. You should sleep more," Heero added, and I had the distinct impression he was filing that thought away like a mission parameter. "The agent is checking on the car. Can you walk?"   
  
Walk? If he'd asked, I could fly. Grinning crookedly, I nodded, drawing in one more greedy breath from his shirt before sitting up completely and slowly unfurling to my feet. Heero caught my elbow, as though to steady me. "What part of America are we in?"   
  
"West. Far west. She said something about it once being called California." Still steering me by my elbow, Heero produced a pair of sunglasses--apparently, that sleight-of-hand phenomenon wasn't limited to his spandex-wearing days--and slipped them on my face, careful not to poke me with them. A warm wind feathered our clothes when we stepped outside, comfortably warm and with a heavy, refreshing tang of salt that lingered on my tongue. 

As expertly as if he did such things every day, Heero guided me down the stairs from the plane and into the back seat of a charcoal-grey limousine. Sinking back against the plush upholstery, I made a mental note that asking Quatre for help equaled traveling in style. And yawned.   
  
"Feeling better now, Mr. Maxwell?" Becky asked politely, peering at me over the rims of her glasses. She sat facing the rear, the deep royal purple of her trendy yet feminine pantsuit a bright splotch of color against the creamy seat. With a brief, envious glance at Heero's comfortable shoulder, I stretched my arms over my head and nodded. "Mr. Yuy said you hadn't slept well the past couple of days and that it was best if we let you be." Translation: she'd observed as much to Heero and he'd responded with the appropriate noise.   
  
The car lurched forwards, and she grabbed at the paperwork in her lap to keep it from falling. "This will be old to him, since we talked about it on the plane," which again meant she'd talked and he'd pretended to listen, and I prepared myself to do the same. "But, we've got a short ride from here to the house, and there's a little bit of history behind everything here."   
  
"First of all, southern California was where all the film and TV stars lived." The motor rumbled beneath us, the air-cushioned shocks making for such a comfortable ride my eyes nearly closed again. History was never my favorite subject in school. "Original resistance against OZ destroyed a lot of it, the early days of the war finished it, and the industry never really recovered. Most everyone moved away to someplace safer; even though this area is to the north, it's reverted to a very small-town lifestyle."

She crossed her legs in the other direction; the ease with which women can do that never ceased to amaze me. " These days, the coast is largely quiet fishing towns. This one," and Becky adjusted her glasses on the end of her nose, peering intently down at the folio in her lap, "was renamed 'Esperanza por el Mar.' The locals tend to call it just Esperanza." [1] Her tongue effortlessly floated over the words; at full consciousness I have a decent understanding of Romance languages--they're all bastardized dialects of Latin-- but still groggy it meant nothing to me. That firm shoulder in my peripheral vision was looking better all the time. Until I followed his gaze out the smoked-glass window, all further thoughts of sleep vanishing like the morning mist.  
  
***   
  
It was the kind of place that only existed in picture books and on glossy postcards. The kind of place that filled the dreams of the masses as they trudged to their means of employment and made another day pass by. I'd never dreamed of such a place simply because I never would have dared to believe that it existed. Glass, steel, plastic, the faded attempts to make the colonies into a likeness of Earth, that was all I knew. It was rather like trying to make a prostitute into a princess. With the right clothes it could almost be believable...but you can't change the truth underneath.   
  
The town was small, quiet. The main street was lined with white houses and brick sidewalks, the local fire station manned by a few whistling men washing their rig with a spotted dog in attendance. The car pulled away from that idyllic scene after a few moments, finally turning onto a road that ultimately put us parallel to the water.   
  
I've seen the ocean before. Much like space, it inspires a sense of mortality, of being but one small part of a puzzle of which there were infinite pieces. After that first, humbling glimpse, it was framed in the less expansive sight of the docks. The water swarmed with small fishing boats, the barren forest of their masts occasionally broken by the brightly colored sail of a pleasure boat.  
  
I glanced at Duo and had to suppress a smile at the sight of him. After a moment, I let the smile have its way.  
  
***  
  
The road was winding, following with ease the curvature of coastline. Pressing my face to the glass, I felt rather like an excited kid--or like how I suspected a kid should feel--watching the wondrous scenery streak by. The sun, only about noontime now, glittered over the water like a spill of tiny diamonds, lighting the entire path to the shore in sparkling motes. "How many places are we going to look at?" I asked, reluctantly tearing myself away and rubbing at the smudge my nose had left on the window.   
  
"Here?" Becky glanced down at that folio in her lap again. "Just one. Mr. Barton was very specific about the type of home you were to be shown."   
  
Barton? "I thought Mr. Winner contacted you." I exchanged a glance with Heero; Trowa wasn't exactly known for love of aesthetic design. Form followed function in the extreme for him; 'utilitarian' was a kind description of his tastes.   
  
"Mr. Winner did," she confirmed, "but the selection was conducted by Mr. Barton. Lanky gentleman, quiet...unusual hair?" The agent raised a questioning brow. "In fact, he was quite certain you would be joining Mr. Maxwell, Mr. Yuy. I was rather surprised that he was right."   
  
Quatre put _Trowa_ in charge of finding a house for us? Frankly, I was a bit miffed; out of all the people who should have understood exactly how much this meant to me, Quatre fell at the top of the list. 

Then again, to be fair all I had said was that I wanted something near water, and there was an ocean of that out the window.   
  
The car rolled to a stop, giving us all the slight inertia-jerk that verified at least one of Newton's laws still applied. "We're here," Becky said, gesturing with one slender hand towards the car door. Being closest, I climbed out first and then helped her from the car, leaving Heero to bring up the rear. Even with the sunglasses, I shaded my eyes and glanced across the street at Mr. Barton's expert selection.   
  
Indeed, the house was Spartan, simplistic in line and design and painted a light slate-blue. Exactly what I expected from the master of minimalism. I felt almost disloyal for my disappointment, because Trowa, for all his reticence, is a steady, stable friend. Trowa is like gravity...you can't always see him, usually just the effects of him, but you always know he's there, and he keeps us from flying off into space. "Is this it?" I asked unnecessarily, jerking a thumb in the direction of the house.   
  
"Oh, no!" Her voice was so shocked I wondered if perhaps I'd insulted her. "No, yours backs up to the beach." She put her hands on my shoulders and turned me around, pointing past me, her girlish voice dropping an octave in whisper. "This is your home."   
  
The first thing I saw was light, glinting white and brilliant and unashamed in its pristine invitation. With the exception of my Gundam, I have never been one to attribute human, living characteristics to inanimate objects, but I have no other words for it. This house...called me. Spoke my name with the kind of intimacy only a lifetime lover should have. Reached possessive tendrils into my heart and, finding it already occupied, opened wide to embrace us both.   
  
It was made almost entirely of glass; at least, it appeared so...closer inspection found metal and wood and plastic interspersed infrequently enough to preserve its illusion. The front staircase ascended to a landing, then turned the other direction to lead unerringly to another landing, a small porch and the front door. The door was the only spot of immediate color, painted a deep, marine blue with a glittering crystal doorknocker at just the right height. In fact, I'd lifted my hand to grasp it when Becky Peterson gently brushed past me with the key. 

Biting my lower lip, I dropped my hand, feeling my fingers nudge Heero's. Neither of us said a word nor exchanged glances, but with the certainty of a pigeon coming home, our fingers found one another and laced together. 

Together, we took a breath and walked inside.   
  
***

[1] "Esperanza por el Mar" is Spanish for "hope by the sea". 


	6. Innocence Faded 6

Innocence Faded Part 6

I've never had a reason to believe in God. At best, God is a very abstract concept, the little I've learned of which has been gleaned from casual mention. Much of it was unfavorable, sometimes even indifferent. God, I think, is a word invoked by habit. My point is, if you don't believe in God, then the notion of heaven or paradise is irrelevant. Again, it becomes an abstract concept that holds little meaning aside from its most literal definition.   
  
Today, on the other hand, I was almost willing to believe.  
  
Heaven stood before me, gleaming gently in the afternoon sun. It wasn't as simple as that, but then it never is. I didn't know it for heaven at first glance. At first glance, all I could see was a nightmare waiting for a place to happen. Glass was everywhere, open, exposed, more vulnerable than any other building material. In my mind's eye, I could see bloody shards of it everywhere, shattered by a sniper's bullet.   
  
Duo chose that moment to brush his hand with mine, and I reminded myself why I was here. For him. For us. Twining my fingers with his, I let him lead the way.   
  
Everything beyond the door was flooded with diffused light. There was no place for shadows to hide, no mysterious corners where a nightmare could dare to lurk. Even as I warned myself that we were badly exposed, there was safety in the light.  
  
I continued to follow quietly behind, giving way easily when Duo surged ahead. He was in love with this house, I could see it already. Strangely enough, part of me wanted to feel the same way.  
  
***   
  
The entryway yawned wide and inviting, the entire floorplan devoted to open, comfortable spaces, my mind hard at work categorizing them all. Heero's hand slipped from mine and after a brief glance his direction, I continued on in open-mouthed gawking fascination, mentally retracting any and every negative thought I might have had about Trowa. 'Perfect' seemed such an inadequate word for this house. 

With some surprise, I noticed that the house was fully furnished. The living room area was sunken by one step, wood floors having more than a hint of cedar to their color and varnish. A huge, airy kitchen with a ceiling that went all the way to the next floor and appliances and countertops in that same pristine white beckoned invitingly. A casual dining table still large enough to accommodate every Gundam pilot sprawled through one set of French doors, completely set and bearing a crystal candelabra with black tapers aflame.  
  
"This is actually the second floor," my mind registered Becky saying. "There are two...no, three bedrooms and two baths downstairs. The stairs go off between the utility room and the office, down that hallway."   
  
Strangely dizzy, I tracked the movement of her hand with my eyes until they began swirling. Upwards. "What's upstairs?" I asked, pointing at the elegant spiral staircase.   
  
Mona Lisa smiled back at me. "Go see."   
  
***   
  
My eyes followed him as he ascended the spiraling stairway, almost unconsciously caressing the slim lines of his body, imagining the smooth play of the muscles beneath his clothing. I didn't move immediately to follow him, but dropped my gaze to the main floor as he disappeared from sight. I thought I could sense a soldier's influence in the choice of furnishings. Clean, simple lines, with just enough color to appeal to Duo's more vibrant tastes. No mementos of the war, no reminders of what we had been. Save one. On the wall above the living room couch arced the elegant simplicity of two Japanese swords, their hilts a lacework of delicate carving. 

I nodded, accepting the message. Here the swords belonged, and here they would stay. A reminder of what we would always be, a reminder of the choice we had made to lay them down.  
  
"Heero?" Duo's voice was strained and urgent as he leaned over the upstairs railing, braid dangling next to his face. "Come up here."  
  
Without thought, I moved instantly towards the sound of his voice, reacting to the urgent tone. Taking the stairs at a run, I reached for a gun that wasn't there. When I rounded the final turn and stepped off onto the floor, it was with the cool, focused mindset demanded of a mission... and a fear for the lover I'd allowed out of my sight. "Nani?" I demanded in a softly intense voice, my eyes raking across the bedroom. Once to ascertain the danger...and again because I could hardly believe what I saw.  
  
***   
  
He ran to me, taking the stairs two and three at a time with the ferocity of a dragon in his eyes. I didn't expect that, but it made my body and soul contract with an odd pleasure-pain. The realization hit me a bare instant later like a hammerbolt in the chest, spreading guilt throughout my being. I'd worried...ne, frightened him, from the wild look in those Prussian blues, and he'd been dealt far too many emotional shocks in the past few days. He alighted on the landing, not even breathing hard and jungle cat purpose in his stride as he closed the distance between us, soldier-eyes scanning for the threat to me and body tensing to eliminate it, one arm slightly extended as though holding a phantom pistol.   
  
_Oh, Heero..._   
  
My hand reached for him, settling like a butterfly on his chest and seeking the fierce pulse of his heart beneath his shirt and skin. "Daijoubu," I reassured him, confirming to him that I was all right. Experience had taught me that when Heero rode the killing edge, talking to him in only Japanese was the quickest way to reach him, and my sense of self-preservation automatically reared its head. I told you it wasn't to read manga. 

I took his gun hand in my other one, bringing it up to my lips to breathe a kiss across the clenched knuckles. "Mitte," I said, nuzzling his cheek with my forehead to direct his eyes. [1]   
  
Against me, the rock-hard body of the Perfect Solider stilled, frozen with the rigid immobility of a statue. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. Leaning closer against him, I smiled, immeasurably happy I wasn't the only one in thrall.   
  
The uppermost floor was little more than a loft, a single spacious room and a doorway that led to a bathroom. Large French doors opened up to a small balcony, just the right size for two to comfortably sit in the elegant chairs placed there, or to stand between them and take in the peaceful tides of the ocean. The same elegant wood floors attired themselves smartly with a rectangular Oriental rug, deep green, blue, and gold swimming in a burgundy sea and resolving themselves into the proud, noble figures of a dragon and a phoenix. But they were all as nothing compared to the centerpiece of the room.   
  
Rising up like a mythical being from the depths stretched four long, luxuriant fingers of dark cherry wood, united at the top with a loose, intricate lattice. From this wept diaphanous tendrils of white, falling as a sheltering shroud around the upthrust hand. More white layered the landscape like a thick fall of snow, fluffy and luxuriant and inviting. 

Any other eye would have seen merely a breathtaking canopy bed, but in my eyes it was a place of redemption. A sacred altar upon which the sins and demons of our pasts could be sacrificed and together we could emerge clean and whole. The urge to wrestle Heero down into that sliver of holy paradise throbbed so strongly in me I found remembering any other motivation for our presence here nearly impossible.   
  
***   
  
That was the moment when I felt I could believe.   
  
If there were truly a place of haven, of respite and shelter, then surely this was it. I was stunned by it, but in a way I couldn't explain. The style in which the loft was furnished was little different from the rest of the house. Simplicity was the rule. That wasn't what held me.   
  
Scenes like this were meant for other people. Untouched, unburdened, with the innocence to deserve such a reward. Heaven wasn't meant for murderers.   
  
I closed my eyes, turning my head so that I leaned as much against Duo as he did against me. I knew he wanted this house, I'd known it before we'd even crossed the threshold. I was glad that I had that excuse, that I could say I was doing this for him. I couldn't bring myself to admit that the murderer, hands washed in blood, was daring to snatch at the dream.  
  
"I need some air," I murmured after a moment, and almost stumbled in my haste to move away, to navigate the stairs as quickly as possible. I moved purposefully towards the rear patio, ignoring the startled look on Becky Peterson's face. Pushing the doors open, I stepped outside.  
  
The wind was coming in from the sea. It smelled fresh and clean, with a faint tang of salt. Closing my eyes, I let it tangle in my hair, toying with the loose folds of my shirt. I wanted this. Against my better judgment, against the strictures I forced upon myself as a means of battling the weight of death in me, I wanted it... and I didn't know what to do about it.  
  
***   
  
Something in my heart breaking and remaking, I watched his descent, legs pumping as strongly as they had on his climb, the few tattered shreds of dignity Heero still possessed the only thing that kept him from breaking into a frantic run. I stepped forwards and reached out for one bedpost, the deep carvings a pattern of curlicues and arcs beneath the pads of my fingers. The wood seemed to vibrate slightly at my touch, a subtle confirmation of welcome. I tightened my hand around it and leaned my forehead against the post, closing my eyes and drawing in deep, earthy breaths filled with the fresh, slightly musky scent of cherry wood.   
  
"Mr. Maxwell?" that soft, feminine voice asked, a bit breathless from her own dash up the stairs but the concern in it wrapping around me almost tangibly. "Are you all right?"   
  
"Duo. Call me Duo." I turned slightly watery eyes up to Becky Peterson, who no longer looked anything like Relena to me. If anything, the compassion called up images of Quatre. "I don't feel old enough to be a 'mister' yet."   
  
"Duo," Becky repeated. "Does Mr. Yuy...Heero," she corrected at my look, "dislike the house? Trowa was so certain it would suit the both of you." Her face fell mournfully; failure clearly hadn't been in her game plan. One slender hand flew nervously to her mouth.   
  
Trowa? Something was there in the way she said his name, but my mind refused to wrap around it, not consumed as it was with thoughts of Heero. At times, I wondered how I thought about anything else. "No," I said, shaking my head a bit and gratefully accepting the handkerchief she held out to me. Girls and movie stars are the only people who look semi-attractive in tears, which disqualifies me on both counts. "Actually, he likes it very much." I knew that with no room for doubt. I had no explanation for it other than the awareness of him that had lodged itself in my psyche. He liked it, and that was the problem.   
  
I closed my eyes, seeing behind those darkened lids the road before me. Rocky, treacherous, devoid of light, uphill far more than down and running only in one direction. Towards Heero. Hilde had tried to tell me what my heart already knew. No matter how rough the road, if it went to him I would walk it. This house and everything it represented to us both was just enough to cast a faint, warm glow on the path ahead, to illuminate the next few steps. And, hopefully, to take in faith the ones that were to follow.   
  
"You love him." The wisdom in that girlish voice wrenched my lids apart, dissolved my vision of that winding allegorical pathway into the feminine form of Becky Peterson. She'd taken a seat in a wingback chair next to the bed, legs properly crossed and fingers thoughtfully steepled. What took me most aback were her eyes, rich mahogany pools utterly devoid of surprise or condemnation. 

"It's difficult, making the transition from wartime to peace, but it's especially hard on the ones who fought. That's why Sanctuary was founded, Duo. Occasionally we handle property acquisitions such as Winner Enterprises requires, mostly as a favor to the company, but our primary purpose is to match former soldiers with places of peace for life after war."  
  
Ironically amused and visibly stunned warred for control of my face. Amused won, but just barely. "I guess it's hardly a coincidence that they called you, then?"  
  
"Hardly." She smiled then, and I realized that despite her adolescent appearance she was at least five years older than me. "I'll apologize in advance in case I'm overstepping, but part of loving someone means asking the questions and giving him a chance to say no." The smile slid once more into daVinci. "Because that also gives him a chance to say yes."   
  
Swallowing around the lump in my throat became suddenly difficult. I knew what I had to do, I think I had always known, but it's easier to follow your instincts when another voice confirms them. "If he says yes, I want this to belong to both of us."  
  
"There's no problem with that." Becky rose from her chair, an oddly familiar boneless grace in her movements. More information to pound around inside my skull. "Let me worry about the details, Duo, that's my job." Her hand touched my shoulder, gave it an encouraging squeeze. "I think you've got a question to pose."   
  
I used to think it was a stupid gesture, but I had no other way to thank her for her insight. I took those elegant fingers in mine and brushed my lips across them softly, seeing my nervous reflection shimmering in her glasses. "How did you know I love him?" I couldn't help asking.   
  
Her face softened, the pink tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. "Let's just say you remind me of two people very close to me who nearly let themselves get away from each other, who have been through some of the same things you and Heero have." Curling her smile around a small giggle, she stood on tiptoe and kissed my forehead. "Or maybe it's because my maiden name was Winner." 

Her index finger curled under my chin and gently tapped my surprised mouth closed. "Now go, Duo..."  
  
Simply put, I went.   
  
***   
  
Things would have been so much easier for Duo without me. I can deny it, I can hide it, but my...self...that part of me trying so hard to be born, to grow in the arid wasteland of my soul, was still hurting, still bleeding. I couldn't give him what I didn't know how to give. I couldn't show him the love he wanted so badly. But I needed him. Without him, I would die. I knew that with calm clarity. It was no more simple and no more complicated than that. Damn me for being weak, damn me for falling short in the only mission that has ever really mattered. I needed him to hold back the nightmares, to remind me why struggling through life was better than slipping into death. By instinct, I think, I knew that his warm, vibrant strength was the only thing that could ever make me feel clean again.   
  
If living in this house with him was what he wanted, I would find a way to give it to him. No matter the cost.   
  
The wind gusting in from the water kissed my face, the soft cry of a gull rising in descant to the primal melody of the tides. Beyond those most basic of elements, I recognized an all too familiar presence, soaking it in like the afternoon sunshine. I could have turned and unerringly pointed at him even if I were blind, like a lodestone seeking magnetic North.  
  
***   
  
My whole world stilled and halted as Heero stood there, the oceanic winds running through his hair like the caress of a familiar, favored lover, rustling against his clothes as though eager to separate them from his skin, I felt everything inside me tighten fiercely, almost painfully. I could watch him for hours, days even, and never be conscious of time's passage. An aching feeling of rightness throbbed within my chest, beating a counterpoint to the steady pulse of my heart. This...this place, this boy, this poignant promise of the future...was the fulfillment of that desperate need eating away at my insides.   
  
My soft footsteps fell without sound in Heero's wake, though I knew better than to believe him unaware of my presence. One hand rose on its own and hesitated just out of touching distance, fingers fluttering like a nervous hummingbird, before gently pressing against my lover's back. An ebb and flow of emotion passed through that silent physical contact...questions asked, questions answered. Strength given, strength received. "Could we call this home?" There was no hyperactive begging, no childish imploring. Nothing one might expect of me when I desperately wanted my way.   
  
***  
  
I didn't move, not even when his hand touched my back. However, I think that... in that moment, I could have denied him nothing. The connection between us flared at that touch, and I realized that I wanted this as badly as he did. Somewhere to rest, to be safe. I wanted to be with him, to make love to him in a bed rich with his scent, in a way half-remembered from similar encounters on a thousand nights before it. I wanted what I had never known I was living without... A home.  
  
I turned to him, and I think if even a fraction of what whorled in my mind showed in my eyes, he couldn't help but be staggered by it. "I want to," I told him simply... and I did.   
  
***  
  
For those several silent minutes, I felt like I was standing on the precarious edge of a great, yawning, hungry abyss, one which was all too eager to swallow me and which could have put me completely down the hatch in one bite. Since the matter had first arisen one ocean and several hours ago, Heero had vibrated with this subtle tension. I knew what he was thinking: how exposed and unprotected this place was, how vulnerable we would be to stay here, how easily we could fall prey to such predators who neither realized nor cared that the war was over. All things I knew. Things I recognized and my mind acknowledged as valid concerns. I held no illusions about what we had been, what had defined our short, young lives until very recently.   
  
But those same parameters must be shattered and their power must be broken in order to go on. They had defined who we were, not who we would be. Those pages were not yet written, and I intended for once to find the pen firmly in my grasp.   
  
My whole being seemed to shiver, to dance crazily beneath that shell of skin when he turned around. I could still feel the lip of the ravine beneath my toes, the slight crumbly feeling of the rocks and pebbles shifting in time with my balance-keeping sway. The night-darkened oceans of his eyes disarmed and drowned me, suffocated and resuscitated me, all in the span of one chest-rattling breath. Something in his eyes made me dizzy, dizzy and desperate for more.   
  
I knew it was real; my dreams were never this good.   
  
"Yokatta," I whispered; I simply had no more voice than that.[2] "She said it's very simple...we seem to be in 'a buyer's market,' I continued, clearing my throat of stray emotions. "We can set it up where it belongs to both of us. I think that's fitting." The words must have somehow formed themselves, for inside the vessel of my body, Heero Yuy's eyes were seducing my soul and I was shouting madly for him to continue it forever.   
  
***  
  
"Hai," I agreed quietly.   
  
I looked up, watched the sunlight glitter on the glass that lined the wall behind us. When at last the sun dropped into the horizon, the house would be flooded with warm, richly colored light. Suddenly I longed for sunset. I wanted to feel that warmth across my face, to count the colors it found in Duo's long chestnut hair. My gaze found his again and lingered there. Everything I knew of beauty, I had learned from watching him. It was the kind of beauty that can drive a man mad with desire to possess it. He was the only person on earth or in space that could inspire such intense want in me.  
  
I reached out because I needed to touch him, to feel his skin beneath my fingertips as I continued to sink deeper and deeper into the amethyst depths of his eyes. _I will survive this and I will go on, because you won't let me do anything else,_ I said to him silently. I could step through heaven's portal and abide there because the angel in my arms held the door wide for me. Everything I had to give was his for the asking. My protection, my body, even my life. All he had to do was ask.

***

[1] Japanese for 'Look.'

[2] Japanese for 'I'm glad.'


	7. Innocence Faded 7 limelemon prelude

Innocence Faded Part 7

We stayed outside until the sun settled into a fiery glow across the waters, not speaking or communicating beyond a rare and surprisingly pleasant quiet. I may have to try shutting up more often if it means I get to be this close to him. Truthfully, I think in some ways we were both still too overwhelmed for words. Ironically, it was Heero, not me, who broke the silence. "We should go back inside," he said, softly, the breeze taking his words and teasing them around my ears. "She needs to know what we've decided." 

He turned, the remaining sunlight washing his hair nearly golden-brown and throwing half his face into dark shadows, and almost shyly held his hand out to me. I took it, never realizing until our skin touched how cold I was. On the average, my body temperature is roughly two degrees lower than human normal, which makes for a Duo-sicle below ambient temperature of about eighty Fahrenheit. I shivered as his warm hand enfolded mine, and that concerned look leaped through the normal blankness again. "I'm fine, just a little too cool," I assured him, drawing my braid over my shoulder with a free hand and fidgeting with the end. I still wasn't entirely comfortable seeing that much concern from his eyes. I especially wasn't comfortable seeing his concern directed at me. 

With a fluid motion that barely separated our hands, Heero shrugged out of his jacket and draped the warm leather around my shoulders. Softened by his body heat, it smelled of cowhide and soap and skin, clean smells that had my insides doing flips Trowa would envy. That led to thoughts of borrowing things from his wardrobe, just to constantly have the scent of his skin on me. I'm not sure if I grinned crazily or just drooled as he led me into the house. 

The kitchen and living room were both empty, eerily still and quiet. "Becky?" I called out, not letting go of Heero's hand. "Becky? Are you here?" Some of the many papers from her portfolio were on the kitchen island, but no sign of our agent. I rifled through the sheets...a contract, a bunch of legalese, a note with our names on it, a property inspection report. 

Waitaminute. I dropped his hand as I snatched up the note and scanned it quickly, rereading it a second and third time in a sort of disbelief. Heero quirked one brow in question and I started reading aloud, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. 

'_Heero and Duo,_

_The rest of the contracts will be delivered by courier sometime tomorrow. I_   
_took the liberty of checking you out of your hotel in Brussels and bringing_   
_your things on the plane; you'll find them upstairs. The house is fully_   
_stocked in keeping with Sanctuary's move-in policy. There are a few more_   
_amenities that will also arrive tomorrow. Keys are on the coffee table, and_   
_the alarm system codes are in this package. If you need anything else, my_   
_number has been programmed into the phone._

_Be happy._

_Becky_' 

An ironic laugh slid past my lips as the note dropped onto the counter. We had been outfoxed and all but stranded here. I drew the jacket tighter around my shoulders with a fierce shiver and treated my comrade to my most skeptical of looks. "Tell me, are all Winners genetically sneaky or have they been taking lessons from the Great Infiltrator?" I don't think it had quite occurred to me that this too-good-to-be-true house really and truly belonged to us. Then again, it had to compete with the realization that I was here alone with Heero, and any other thought was destined to fall to that one. 

*** 

Becky Peterson was gone. 

I snorted softly. Duo had a point, this was definitely reminiscent of Quatre. However... along with that went the knowledge that everything had been done with the intention to help, not hurt. I glanced towards Duo and my breath caught in my throat. Twilight cast him in silver, gleaming indigo in his eyes. I ached with sudden, inexplicable longing, one that went beyond the physical. 

Duo and I were alone, with nothing to hold us back from what this house represented...from what it meant to be alone by choice, to leave the war behind. I turned towards him, reaching out a hand to brush it across his hair, trailing lower to caress his cheek. "This is our house," I said quietly, testing how the words felt on my tongue. "A place... just for us." There was relief in my voice...but also fear, and the same need that I kept finding myself helpless to deny. I wanted him in my arms...I wanted him in that bed at the top of the stairs. 

I realized then, that I was allowing myself to buy into the promise he'd made. He wasn't going to leave me alone, not ever. God, I was beyond help. But I couldn't stop myself. He has that effect on me, I think he always has. When I'm with him, no matter how hard I fight against it, logic and rational thought escape me, and I'm left trying to muddle through a chaos of emotion. 

I needed him, I was finding a way to accept that now. We needed each other, which gave me a reason to fight, to hold on. I lowered my head, seeking his mouth with mine, and in that moment I had but one intent, neither gentle nor innocent...but we'd neither of us been those things for a very long time. 

*** 

I'm man enough to admit when I've been had. Trowa and Quatre and Becky Winner Peterson had executed one of the most flawless examples of the bait and switch in recorded history, collectively abandoning me to the company of Heero Yuy in the secluded beach house of my dreams in a small, sleepy California town, with a lifetime full of languid, lustful thoughts taking aim at that piece of cherry-wood heaven one flight up. 

I'd been had. And I had no idea how I would ever thank them enough. 

I still felt slightly chilled as Heero stroked an impossibly warm hand across my face. My body shivered in the confines of his jacket with cold and something much deeper. I turned my cheek into his touch, like a flower seeking the kiss of the sun, and a slow smile curved my mouth as he rubbed his thumb over the tip of my snub nose, trying to fuse his heat into that extremity. His own smile wobbled on his face, a newborn colt on unsteady legs barely staying upright. I wrinkled my nose and nuzzled it against his thumb; the smile strengthened, just a bit. 

"There's no place like home." The irreverent quip flew out of my mouth long before the synapses that formed it finished firing in my brain; despite the grin, though, it carried at least a little of the wonder swelling inside me like a living thing. I glanced down at my boots, absently noting that the left one was untied. "And we didn't have to go over the rainbow or use the ruby slippers to get here." And yet, this felt far, far more magical than that well-loved primer of childhood imagination. Not that I'd read it while in childhood, or even had a childhood to read it in, but one of the schools we infiltrated required a thematic analysis of the use of color in the book and movie. Guess which one of us got the A that time? 

Meeting his eyes, I shivered again. They were hot, liquid pools of cobalt fire, their flames rising out to lick hungrily at my skin. Heero doesn't often think himself capable of feeling anything, but I know better. I'm the one who sees his eyes. 

In his eyes, I saw a need, a desire, a passion that had everything and nothing to do with my body...need, desire and passion that my own eyes greedily answered. I kept shivering, violently, desperate to bathe, to drown in him. I wanted his warmth in the worst way, I wanted it inside me so badly I felt I would split apart and shatter into a million pieces without it. His eyes flashed, his head dropped, his mouth claimed me. His tongue met mine, stroking, dancing, running over the flat surfaces of my teeth. I trembled, my hands fisting in his shirt, his arms around me the only support against a long fall. 

"Warm me up," I begged, not caring if it sounded pathetic and desperate. My voice shook almost as badly as the rest of me. The scents of him from the jacket surrounding me, combined with the actual scent _of_ him, no more than a whisper away from my nose, spun my head in dizzy circles. I was falling into infinity, falling deeper and deeper into Heero Yuy. And I never wanted to crawl back out. 

"Take me." Against his cheek, my pleading voice grew more urgent; the arms that responsively drew me closer against him transmitted that urgency in the press of our hips against one another. "Take me...upstairs." I kissed him back with the full force of the storm rising in me. 

*** 

This was a language I could speak. Closing my eyes I let it form its own words, translated through touch. Ravenous, desperate touch, pouring over Duo's soft skin like a living thing with a mind all its own. I was a slave to its whims, banishing thought entirely. 

"Can't you feel it?" I gasped, my hungry mouth descending to the slim column of his neck. I nipped him, hard, lingering to soothe the angry welt with the stroke of my tongue. "Heat..." Jerking my head up impatiently, I fed him a taste of the fire burning me up inside, rasping hot breath across his cheek as I restlessly pulled away again. I was drunk on the taste of him, obsessed with his scent. The hot, tight feeling inside of me was moving lower, and I realized that upstairs was exactly where I needed to be. 

I scooped him up in my arms, moving with a single-minded focus. My body was a well-trained instrument, long used to obeying my commands, that was the only reason I was able to climb the stairs at all. I paused at the top, panting from exertion, but not from the climb. Willfully, willingly, I drowned in those simmering pools of molten amethyst, my lips worrying restlessly over his until I finally nuzzled against his cheek in an attempt to allow myself to speak. 

Words wouldn't come. I buried my head in his neck, trying to process everything that was going on inside of me. It was impossible. It was overload, and I almost cried out in protest. 

*** 

In an instant, I was weightless, buoyed by a boundless supply of strength and power. Shaking, I clung to his steadiness, the fire his touch stoked deep in me slowly beginning to smolder out through my frigid limbs. Every kiss burned, seared and branded part of him into me, stamping ownership on my heart and soul. He walked the path as confidently as going to battle, clutching me tightly, possessively against that hard, sinewy twist of muscle and skin that formed his chest. Heat emanated from every pore of his body, thick and sensual and male. Utterly, uncompromisingly male. 

A small whimper formed in the back of my throat as I nestled my face next to that hot, throbbing pulse in his neck, feeling it flicker fiercely against my skin as he climbed. Upon reaching the zenith, he attacked my mouth with a blessed tenderness that finally spread the warmth in my groin through the rest of me. 

Breathless, he posed a simple question to me. I opened my eyes to small slits, like a cat, and gasped out my answer. "Bed." I had no aversion to water, but in that sweating, trembling moment what I desired more was baptism by fire. The pure, downy whiteness of the thick comforter seemed to swallow me when he laid me down on it, stretching that wiry body over mine in a motion that left me without breath or speech. 

One of my legs snaked its way around his waist--the left, the untied boot having thudded to the floor already--and my bared foot cupped the weight of his backside against the arch, squeezing and pushing him closer to me. I shivered convulsively-- though no longer from cold--and echoed his groan. "Undress me," I sighed, my hands already tugging his shirt over his head, baring the full measure of his upper body to my hungry eyes and hands. 

He was beautiful--a litany of small scars before me telling the tale of his life, and before I could think better of it, my tongue swiped down one of the newest ones, still pink and healing, the skin slightly puckered as it held together. It was recent, but still before Christmas and Mariemeia. What had happened to him in the year between the Colony War and now? I could see the ones on his body, but what other scars had the ensuing time left on his soul? Gently, I kissed that scar in silent acceptance. 

His skin trembled beneath my touch as my eyes drifted back up to those impossibly dark blue depths, studying every hue and value and shade in them, feeling the infinitesimal puff of breeze from each blink of those long, long lashes. Still lost in those unshuttered soul-windows, one of my hands slid up the tight landscape of his stomach to his pectoral muscles and brushed lightly against one of his soft male nipples. It hardened, and I felt the air between us ignite, the flame in those eyes turning white-hot. 

*** 

Touch has power, and in so many ways, Duo's power over me was absolute. My head whipped back as his hands made contact with my skin, fingertips making a slow spiral around one nipple. I arched my neck, nuzzling at that questing hand, darting forward to capture his index finger in my mouth. I suckled it, dropping my eyes to his face as I slid that lone digit in and out before moving to its sib. What is it about him that does this to me? Physical torture, mental interrogation, I'd been trained to withstand them both. It's why it was so critical to keep him at a distance during the war. If we'd been like this then... I pushed the thought away impatiently. I didn't want to think right now. 

Pulling away, I pushed his shirt up, tugging it over his head and banishing it to the floor. Fair skin stretched over hard muscle lay beneath and I surveyed it like a general planning a siege. Choosing my angle of attack, I pursued it ruthlessly. I lowered my head and he arched his back beneath me as I left a trail of lovebites over his breastbone, soothing them with a swipe of my tongue. 

His scent, the taste of his skin, was burning out my patience. I'd forced myself away from him for so long, and only now was I aware of the agony of that withdrawal. It's the ironic lie that pushers will tell about the drugs they deal, that once or twice won't make you dependent. I was addicted, had been from the first taste, and I wanted more. I tugged at his pants, directing his wandering hands to my jeans. "I need you," I breathed against his mouth, just before I sealed the words to silence between us. Is that what kisses are meant to do? Silence words so that they no longer get in the way? 

I wanted nothing more than to make love to him in this bed, to fix in my memory what it felt like to make him mine all over again. 

** 

His tongue demanded entry against mine, and I welcomed him inside, only to spring my own attack as he crossed the threshold. The burning had begun, rendering my earlier cold a hazy, formless half-memory, as though the body that had trembled in off the rear deck was not the living inferno currently domiciling my soul. 

Heero yanked my hands down from their exploration of his chest, setting my fingers on the waistband of his jeans in a barely-concealed demand. My own demand ached against the cloth confines of a freshly-revealed pair of boxers; I realized then my pants and the remaining boot had already fallen against the invasion of the Yuy Brigade. I tilted my hips slightly down and then abruptly arched them upwards in a long, slow stroke of cloth against cloth that mimicked the impending flesh against flesh. Fingers made clumsy by unforgiving desire at last fumbled Heero free from denim; God, I wanted to touch him so badly, to contrast by touch alone that intermingled rough and smooth lingering beneath his clothing. 

"Baka," I gasped out, gulping down a giant measure of our shared breath. "I need _you_." I didn't want words from that wonderful mouth of his, but actions. More actions. More actions that would never be enough. _Could_ never be enough. I hooked the waist of his shorts with my thumbs and scooted them down over his hips, gliding them the rest of the way off with one foot and reveling in my own discovery that the perfect soldier hadn't been sunbathing naked. His backside blushed with a slight rose-tinged fairness, stark against the exposed tanned skin the rest of him sported. 

Something firm and male nuzzled at my stomach. The sudden compulsion to write "Duo Maxwell" in magic marker on his most intimate flesh trainwrecked into my feverish brain; much like me, this part of him never lied. I glanced down, taking the full measure of him in with my eyes. 

I almost lost it then. In the past two days, when a desperate bid for his life had utterly changed my own, I hadn't allowed myself to fully acknowledge how beautiful he was. Unclothed, prostrate atop me, he was like some wild, primal, gorgeous god. The type of beauty lyricists and poets forever hope to convey in their words, the type artists leap to immortalize. 

He was beyond human. 

He was a god. 

But he wanted...me. Flawed, fragile, human me. 

And God, how I wanted him. 

"I need you...inside me. Can't...wait." The strangled urgency in my voice leaped back out at me from his eyes...God, he felt it, too. "Don't hold back." 

*** 


	8. Innocence Faded 8 lemon

Innocence Faded Part 8

In the back of my mind lies a memory of the first time we were together like this. A night a thousand lifetimes ago, when the war still raged just beyond the doorway of a borrowed room. The fury never penetrated past that barrier. Inside there had been only twinned heartbeats, ragged breaths, and need. A need that never stopped, that pounded within us even now. 

Does it seem surprising that I remember it so clearly? That night Duo Maxwell seared himself into my blood, setting me on a path that would eventually lead me here. I couldn't have forgotten if I tried... and I tried, God I tried to forget. 

Attachments are nothing but a liability in war. I did the best I could, I pushed that night so deeply into my mind, that its memory lay quiet...until now. 

The urgency, the desperation, every bit of it was there. But ultimately, everything we had gathered in experience in the interim was sacrificed to the inferno of the moment. That alone made me as clumsy as a virgin as I reached for him. I could feel it. Need was burning its way outward through my skin, I felt like it was turning my body to ashes as it manifested physically, demanding to be driven deeply inside him until the ache was quenched. My hips moved restlessly in response, a low growl beginning at the back of my throat as the hardened length of his shaft grazed against mine. 

My control was slipping, and I turned my back, not even caring to watch it go. 

Animal ferocity surged beneath my skin and I claimed his mouth again, urging his thighs apart. My hand closed around him, stroking slowly as I swallowed his moan of pleasure. The other hand quested lower, seeking...and finding. My fingers slid inside of him, he tensed, then I felt him clench around them, his nails digging into my back in mute encouragement, and that was all it took. The beast shattered its chains and I pulled free, bracing myself above him and nipping his neck as he wrapped both legs around my waist. There were no questions, no solicitous requests or pleasantries. It was not a moment for pretty words or imagery, it was raw, and as inevitable as death. A low, animal sound of pain or pleasure or both wrung itself from my chest as his body yielded beneath me. 

The moan that won free from his clenched teeth was his only reply. 

Maybe this is what insanity feels like... I was embraced, caressed, buried in his tight heat, subject to its maddening constriction. A sob nearly choked me as I eased myself inside him, and. I bowed my head, tangling my fingers in the sheets as I fought again for control.... 

Damn control. 

I pulled back. "Mine." The word was punctuated with a single, swift thrust... and that declaration of possession became a litany as desire finally slipped its leash. 

*** 

Lost in a maelstrom sea of want and desire that utterly stole my power to form thought, my body embraced him, drew him deeper with every frantic, needy thrust. It hurt like hell, but I wasn't conscious of pain. Pain had crested into something far more powerful, more demanding, more addictive until the very concept of pain became meaningless. There was only the mind-numbing, body-blistering ecstasy flooding me, filling me as surely as Heero did. 

Without the burden of conscious thought to hold it in place, my mind arrowed into another place, another time with those powerful thrusts, harder and faster and driving us towards an inevitable conclusion. _Saa_, I had said, glancing towards him with eyes half swollen shut, cracked ribs whistling the breath in my chest, _I'm destined to be killed by you._

And I was. His final thrust knifed into me, body and soul, and he killed me. I died, and culmination claimed me while I sobbed out his name as a prayer. 

Le petit mort. The little death. French, for orgasm. 

Reality splintered around me, fracturing like brittle glass as I slammed back into that shell called my body, awareness returning of the weight inside and on top of me. As he collapsed on me, gasping, I realized Death had claimed Heero, too, in more ways than one. "Yours," I whispered fiercely against his ear, maneuvering my boneless hand to place it palm-to-palm against his equally boneless one. "Mine," I echoed, giving that hand a fragile squeeze. His head lay on my chest while his breath pooled hotly over one of my nipples as he fought to catch it. Fatigue was drawing her night-dark cloak over me and I was helpless to resist, my eyes heavily lidding despite my earlier nap. 

"Ours," I pronounced with finality. 

*** 

I lost myself for a little while, aware of nothing and everything. After what seemed like hours of drifting, I opened my eyes, blinking owlishly as the light from the bedside lamp stung them. I felt warmth from beneath me, inhaled and felt the taste of sex brush my tongue on the way down. Startled, I forced myself to awareness, tried to move and winced as overtaxed nerves lodged a fervent complaint. It wasn't pain exactly, but overstimulation. Lifting my head, I looked down into Duo's face. 

Damn. 

I pulled free and rolled to the side, pushing up on an arm that trembled with exertion. My mind was racing through what had happened, processing my feelings and intentions. Comparing it to what could have happened. It made my heart clench with fear, nightmare images passing before my eyes, summoned by one inescapable fact. I'd lost control. 

No. Not true. I'd willingly, willfully, let it go. 

I swallowed hard. "Da--daijoubu desu ka?" I asked softly. 

God I'd hurt him, I know I did. I could almost remember feeling flesh tear... and enjoying it. Dammit, what's wrong with me? Why can't I do this? Why am I ruining something-- something wonderful? 

*** 

I lay there for what seemed a long time, surrounded by this pure, perfect lassitude that had taken all will to move from every part of me, leaving behind a peculiar, acute awareness of my body that rarely came in even semi-conscious moments. I felt...hypersensitive...that's the only way to really describe it, my brain hardwired to every whit of sensory input available. There was some pain, yes, centered in a small, slowly pulsating   
wave at the very base of my spine, and it throbbed in my consciousness, but despite my increased sensitivity it could be ignored. 

Pain, after all, was the body's signal that something was wrong, and its source was something very, very right. 

A still, small part of me latched onto the tether of his voice, letting it pull me hand over hand out of the warm, comfortable sleep void my body craved after the exertion. My eyelids rose little by little until they opened on an endless sea of Prussian blue. 

I think my heart stopped again. 

_Daijoubu desu ka?_ he asked me. _Oh, Heero, if you only knew..._

"Nan demo nai. Hontou ni." _It's nothing. Really_. I willed my left hand to move, to lift and stroke away in reassurance that unruly half-curl falling just over his eye. 

I willed harder. My pinky twitched. 

At least my face obeyed into a smile, not one of my normal repertoire of good cheer. This one touched my eyes completely. "I'm a little sore," I confessed, my smile turning wry and the words loosening the immobility below my waist, "but just fine." My hips squirmed a bit and I wasn't fast enough to cover the small wince that escaped. He had asked me another question, not with his mouth but with his eyes, the concerned look that had so unnerved me earlier hammering out from their depths. Perhaps it was the afterglow of having held him in my body, but it no longer seemed quite so strange to see.

_Was it worth it?_ my eyes answered. _Every bit._

*** 

From where did this feeling come? It welled up inside of me, an ache as fierce and demanding as the one so recently sated. Instead of urging me towards heated, desperate union, however, this one called for gentler action. I shivered, brushing my lips across the fine bones of his cheek as they crested upward towards the summer-wheat silk of his hair. "Gomen," I said quietly, and meant it. If not for the strange glow in his eyes that made my heart lose its steady rhythm, I would have been furious with myself. My loss of control had hurt him. I had hurt him... Damn it, I'd _ hurt_ him.  
  
That was unacceptable. I didn't deserve to be anywhere near him, not if this is what I was capable of.   
  
I rolled away, so angry with myself that I was shaking. I'd sworn to protect him. Kuso-- A hand stayed me as I moved to leave the bed, and I could almost feel him willing me to look at him. As though obeying a spoken command, I turned. Helpless, I drowned, unable to get the message to my eyelids fast enough to close them before he captured me with those impossible purple-dusk eyes.  
  
"Gomen," I whispered again, at a loss of what else to say.  
  
"Iya. Kitte kudasai." _No. Please listen to me._ "Daijoubu desu yo. Hontou ni." I swallowed hard, realized I was holding my breath. His touch gentled me, coaxing me back towards him. He was my undoing...Not all the training in the world could prepare me for the kind of war Duo waged when the outside world was no longer a concern. It was the sort of battle in which _ he_ was the perfect soldier and I was merely a man, like any other.

*** 

Slowly, carefully, I tugged him back inch by inch to our bed. _Our_ bed. "Listen to me," I repeated in English, my hands returning to service and   
stroking gently over his tanned pectoral muscles, feeling the tension in them flicker beneath my fingers with every tender touch. "Who asked...no, _begged _ you to bring him upstairs? To take him?" The unblemished hurt that briefly flashed through those indigo-blue eyes confirmed I was on the right track. 

_I wanted you so badly, please don't blame yourself._

I fumbled through the infinite words in my mind for the ones that would soothe the self-recrimination rising off him like heat off the road. One hand wandered up to his cheek. "There's not just an 'I' or 'you' anymore. You're part of a 'we' now, ne?" It had never entered my mind to blame him for the results of our skyrocketing libidos and desperate urges for one another only moments before. 

I wanted him. I...I loved him, and that far outweighed some mild discomfort. 

A contented smile spread itself over my face as my fingers tiptoed around the back of his neck, lacing together behind and drawing him down to meet me. There was nothing to be sorry for, nothing to forgive. I loved him, and my lips whispered it without words as they joined with his. 

*** 

In spite of myself, my body relaxed. I swallowed hard, turning my head to avoid his gaze, but I couldn't bring myself to avoid his touch. Have you ever needed something so badly that your body hurts with craving for it? That's how I needed his touch on me. _ Don't,_ my eyes said. _ Yes,_ my soul cried, restless in its newborn strength.  
  
He tamed me like a wild horse, pulling me down to drink at the sweet water of his lips. I drank, taking long, deep draughts of him with helpless abandon. But I didn't let go this time, keeping a tight rein on myself. Instead I tugged him into my arms, cradling him against me. I needed to get out of this bed, right now. I was afraid I might see blood on the pristine sheets...but I couldn't be apart from him. Irony, bitter irony, I'd hurt him, but I couldn't stand to let go of him.  
  
The rug was velvet soft beneath my bare feet, giving way to the smooth coolness of tile. I paused at the lip of the tub, still holding him against me, pulled tight to my chest as I leaned forward to start the water flowing. "We'll sleep better if we're clean," I murmured quietly, brushing a strand of hair from his face without meeting his eyes. It was a small comfort, you learned to take them when you could get them during the war. Now I just wanted us both to be clean. The uncertainty of but a few days ago was still with me, still ready to pounce if I let my guard down.  
  
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the warm water, lowering us both down into it. If the tub were any bigger, it would have been suitable for swimming. As it was, we could both comfortably stretch out in the heated water. Impulsively, I pulled him back against me, hard, burying my face in his hair. God, I... I don't know. I just don't know what I feel...

*** 

He was hurting, a lot more than the minor ache in my backside, I realized, and for several moments as we thoroughly explored one another's mouths, I puzzled over exactly what was setting him off, what had strung this impossible tension and almost fearful gentleness through his body. This was hardly the first time we'd had sex, hardly the first time we'd had urgent, impatient sex, and certainly not the first time I didn't think I'd be able to sit down afterwards. The first time had actually been the worst, neither of us knowing technique beyond what felt good and drowning in wild, desperate, teenaged need. So what was so different this time? 

He reached for me, snuffing my theories like a candle, hauled me into those improbably strong arms yet again and carried me into the bathroom like I weighed nothing. There wasn't even enough time for the oxygen to rekindle the sparking thoughts in my head before warm water closed around my body. I think I even forgot my name for several minutes as he drew me close against his chest, gently rocking me back and forth, his breath warm on my neck as he nuzzled against my dampening hair. 

During the war, I was never conscious of the miniscule difference in our heights and weights. A few centimeters here, a kilo there, never enough to matter. The Eve Wars and what followed had passed in such a rush that my powers of observation had failed to notice what my body was telling me now as Heero abruptly pulled me into his arms. 

In that year we'd spent apart, he'd gained at least two, if not three, inches on me and probably close to fifteen pounds...still slender, still wiry, but   
if it was possible, he was harder and stronger than the perfect soldier who unwittingly had stolen my breath and my heart with those intense blue eyes. I studied the legs that stretched past mine under the rippling waters; we'd been around the same height for a long time, but his was always more torso while mine was leg. Not anymore; his legs now seemed determined to win the race. 

Gently, I stroked my foot along the underside of his firmly muscled calf, falling deeper into my inner musings, the buoyancy of the water and the strong arms around me proving quite relaxing. In some ways, he had changed so much; in others, not at all. 

Cautiously, reluctantly, like the first rays of morning sun a slow smile of comprehension dawned on my face. In some ways, some very important ways, he hadn't changed at all. 

I wriggled just enough in his arms to turn over, my legs and hair trailing behind me as I fit myself to his body, my arms around his neck and my face just inches from his. Strange wariness clouded his eyes, and I forced myself to look past it, look deeper into what those shadows sought to conceal. He made a move to speak, my name formed on his lips, but I quelled it with my fingers, pressing against his mouth, and a slight shake of my head. 

God, it was so surprisingly simple; all it took was a backwards glance at our history together. Heero Yuy could be brusque, dismissive, uncaring, and downright rude, but there was one thing that, no matter the circumstances, he wasn't. 

"I want you to tell me," I began, easing just slightly my pressure on his lips, "just with yes or no, if what you wanted was to hurt me. That's all that matters to me." 

*** 

I swallowed hard, feeling a painful stab of hurt somewhere in the vicinity of my chest at the implication. Could I hurt him? God yes. Unbidden, my mind offered up any number of quick and efficient ways to hurt, maim, even kill him. What was truly frightening was that, in a certain mindset, I could have done it without flinching. The consequences would hit me later, when I allowed myself time to consider them, but in the cold clarity of the moment... 

Can you see the monster lurking beneath the guise of the man? I can. Sometimes I pretend that I've lost sight of him, but he's there. He's always   
there. 

However, the question was whether I wanted to hurt him. "No." When Duo's around, sometimes I can pretend the monster doesn't exist at all... 

*** 

My face softened into a gentle, slightly weary smile. "I know," I assured him, my thumbs rubbing in small circles behind his ears. "There has never been any doubt in my mind of that. You aren't the type of person to want to hurt. I wanted you to say it so you could hear it and believe it as strongly as I do." 

_Heero, I keep seeing glimpses of this wonderful, tender heart inside you. They make me want more. They make me want all of you._

_Quid pro quo, Duo,_ I told myself. Wanting all of him entitles him to the same from you. "Did what we did scare you like it did me?" I ventured softly, baring just a little more of my soul. After all, just by being here with me, it was his to accept or reject, no one else's. "Not the sex at all, but the...intensity? It was like flying without a Gundam, wonderful and terrifying at the same time. Suffocating and liberating both. I don't have better words for it, but my heart still pounds just remembering it." 

*** 

Fighting the desire to look away again, I took several slow, deep breaths, trying to calm what I felt welling up inside. He just kept breaking my   
barriers down, refusing to let me stand behind what I had used for protection all those years... I was left naked, shivering...afraid. I did shutter my eyes then, twisting my head to the side as I struggled for words, or perhaps to keep the words in. "Hai," I said at last and I did shiver, then.   
Swallowing hard, I threaded my fingers through the hair at his nape, pulling him forward until our foreheads touched. "You always make me feel that way. Like I can't...control...." I broke off, closing my eyes. 

*** 

Suddenly, I knew why he had been upset before, and I kicked myself for not noticing what had been right before my nose. I told him I needed him. And in thinking he hurt me, he had failed to protect me. It bothered him, because...he cared. There was no other logical conclusion. It was a good thing I was sitting down, albeit in a tub of water; I wouldn't have been standing long against that realization. Heero Yuy cared about what happened to me. 

Heero cared...about me. 

I shook my head just a bit, marveling at the irony. "All that time, I thought it was just my hormones and emotions on overload, but...you were feeling it, too," I whispered, something akin to wonder in my voice. We had wasted so much time, it seems, but could either of us have effectively fought the war we needed to fight, knowing that the feelings throbbing inside with a maddening pulse were felt by our occasional lover, too? I couldn't have, I know. It was hard enough loving him and fighting when I thought he didn't give a damn. Loving him and fighting when I knew he felt something back? I would have been hobbled and helpless. 

But there was no more war. Nothing and no one but us. Already, I was helpless, the warm presence of his forehead seeming to physically fuse our thoughts together. "I can't, either," I confessed. He had to know that this--not just the sex, or the house, but _all_ of it--was both of us. "It's   
too much, there's not enough of me to hold it back." My fingers drew small curlicues in the patterns of water on his chest, feeling the slick droplets slide down to join the pool of their fellows. "And I don't want to." 

*** 

_All that time..._ All that time, you were my worst enemy, my strongest liability. You committed the worst sin of all... You made me feel. That's   
part of the reason I ran for a year, because not only could I not face the fact that I was a soldier in a time of a peace...I couldn't face you. 

I kissed him then, gently. I wanted to quiet what was happening between us. I didn't trust myself, not tonight. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling slowly away from the kiss to speak. "Tonight... just be with me." I said quietly. "I can't...It's too much tonight." 

*** 

The tempest slowly stilled, the storm at an end. It might only be the oasis in the desert, the eye of the hurricane, but for the moment all that   
surrounded us was refreshing calm. I turned around and curled my body to his once more, my head fitting nicely against the solid support of his shoulder, the fierce, steady pound of his heart against my back rhythmic and comforting. "I want to be with you," I whispered, the sleep I'd been denied earlier launching a stealthy attack on my consciousness. "Just hold me, please?" 

*** 

I let my breath out slowly, leaning my cheek against his, breathing in air that was rich with his scent. "Itsumo," I replied softly, my arms tightening around him. _ Always, Duo... Always...I'll do whatever I have to, to protect you..._

*** 


	9. Innocence Faded 9

Innocence Faded Part 9

Call it an internal clock--albeit one that perpetually runs behind and could really use a battery--or just some bloody extra-sensory awareness, but I rolled over in our bed at the precise moment Heero's side chilled and the front door clicked shut downstairs. Flinging an arm over my eyes, I groaned. That made seven times in as many days.

Cursing his ancestry, my own, and the fatigue, anguish or just plain laziness that still had me in bed, I stumbled in a tangle of covers towards the bathroom. I needed to pee and shower, in that order. Maybe I got a little spoiled in the past year, maybe it was sharing space at least part of that time with Hilde--translation: feminine influence--but I no longer think clearly when I'm dirty. Wash water was readily available here, and I intended to use plenty of it.

The shower was big enough to hold all of us pilots and tall enough even for Zechs; fortunately, I was a little too sleepy to feel very alone in it. I cranked on the water and blinked at the hazy brightness filtering in from the shower's skylight. The cloud of steam wrapped welcoming arms around me as I shut the frosted-glass door, my lungs struggling for oxygen in the thick humidity. It's moments like this that I realized how much a year without war and poverty changed me. Waking up slowly no longer equaled I wouldn't eat and probably wouldn't survive that day. I wondered why more people didn't understand what a gift that was, the simple freedom to be blissfully semiconscious first thing in the morning.

Yawning, scrubbing at my eyes, I made a clumsy fumble towards a bottle of shampoo and flicked open the cap, squeezing a large glob into my hand. An impossibly fresh tang of mint and eucalyptus scent [1] filled the shower as I lathered, my mind a million miles away and filled to the brim with Heero. No matter how many chemical formulas, salvage prices, or even *shudder_*_ naked Relenas I paraded through there, he wouldn't be budged. I always knew he was a stubborn bastard. 

Frustrated, I scrubbed harder at my hair, creating what looked like a veritable bridal veil of suds on my head. Damn him and damn the shampoo. After all this time, it still smelled like him.

Just like that, realization abruptly bitch-slapped me and I froze, clenching my eyes shut. I'd been using this kind of shampoo for so long I'd all but forgotten it was once his, and the promise I'd made concerning it. Suddenly shivering, I couldn't move or breathe or do anything beyond weakly rest my forehead against the tile wall and hope my legs would support me. Mingled water and suds trickled in slow rivulets through my hair and down my backside, just like the flood of memories associated with that simple, familiar smell.

///

We had been attending school together--largely consisting of P.E. and trig by day, track OZ and blow things up by night--for around a month when I ran out of shampoo. I'd only recently been able to have a shower whenever I pleased, and admittedly I kind of overdid it in the shampoo usage department. The worst part was, I didn't realize it until I was bare-assed naked and sopping wet under the spray. Given the choice between prancing out of the bathroom like I was in hope of a spare and borrowing Mr. Antisocial's uber-utilitarian suds...well, some fit of primal nervousness found me with his white bottle clutched in shaking hands.

In retrospect, I guess I was having a moment of intense denial, unwilling to admit that brash, arrogant, fearless me was profoundly terrified that Heero might see me naked. Now, on the surface, that shouldn't be a big deal; we're both guys, right? And guys are by definition shameless and uninhibited, especially around one another? Yeah, but you see, two guys plus my growing attraction to him equaled huge-ass problem...that, and about a truckload of good old Catholic guilt no amount of cold showers or Hail Mary's seemed able to subdue.

I've always had strong associations with smells, even before my makeshift training with G covered learning to assemble explosives in the dark by scent alone. In the part of me where I hide things like shame and inadequacy--Shinigami can't keep those where the neighbors might see them, ruins the whole 'God of Death' reputation--I realize that while I can't quite remember the color of Sister's eyes, or the precise feel of Father's hand on my shoulder, I will never forget the way everything about them smelled: Sister, the gentle kiss of honey and wildflowers followed her, and Father, a sprinkling of citrus and cinnamon always clung to him. 

The strongest memory, though, was the Church itself, the ceremonial incense used in Mass that seemed to fill the entire building and not just the sanctuary. For weeks after the fire, I stole incense from the few other Catholic churches; huddled up in a miserable, shivering ball with a fragrant rock of it in my hand, desperately clutching at the memory of being wanted and loved, was the only way I could sleep. The truth always crept back to me with morning's light, but surrounded by the scent, for a little while I could almost believe the lie.

Anyways, I could go so far as to call my obsession with smells a fetish, because most of the scents surrounding Heero got me harder than the Hope Diamond. Not that it helped that I was around many of them 24/7 myself. You don't _want_ to know how gun oil was starting to affect me. And yet, here I was, stepping right in it again by contemplating plastering his shampoo on my meter of hair. "Why don't you just roll around in his bed like a dog and get his scent on you, Duo?" I snarked to myself

Shit, that was tempting...

Disgusted with the bend of my thoughts, I flipped open the cap and squirted out a handful of pale green shampoo, angrily working it into a frothy lather. Just to spite myself, I washed my hair three times, making sure it smelled plenty like Heero Yuy. Not only have Catholics cornered the market on guilt, we also have penance and self-torture down to a science. As punishment for my sin--wanting the Perfect Soldier to do perfectly unspeakable things with me--I was going to torment myself via continuous exposure, I decided, committing to memory the brand of shampoo as I put one soggy foot on the bath mat and started to dry off. No matter where I went, he would be with me.

Even after he was gone.

I knew deep down I didn't mean just from this school, or from Japan. From Earth, the colonies, my life--none of those. I drew thick, wet strands of my hair over my shoulder and inhaled deeply. My body surged, responding initially to the cleanliness--once you've been grimy for months at a time, the smell of clean is almost orgasmic--but slamming right up behind it was the awareness, the acute consciousness that tingled over my skin and through my soul, of closing my eyes and being one with Heero Yuy.

And Heero Yuy being one with Death.

That was what it all came down to, wasn't it? I _was_ Death. If Duo Maxwell decides he cares for you, you die. Might as well write your will and take out that triple indemnity rider on your life insurance, because Shinigami will be hunting you and he never goes home hungry.

_God, I'm sorry, Heero._ I started shivering, pulled the towel tighter around me. _I didn't mean to give a damn about you. I sure the hell didn't mean to care this much._ Not like I could have turned off those traitorous feelings sentencing him to an early grave. Emotions aren't like a water tap; I'm at least smart enough to recognize that. It didn't make the reality hurt any less. 

_Enough people have died just for being close to me. I don't want to add you to the list._ Solo, Sister, Father, all the orphans at the Church, even the parents I must have at one time had...all that was left of them was me. And a skinny, scruffy, smart-mouthed terrorist wasn't much of a legacy for anyone, especially for someone like Heero Yuy.

Surrounded in his scent, ecstatic and miserable, I had a mild epiphany. A more cynical mind might term it yet another in a long line of well meaning but stupid ideas, but frankly epiphany sounded nicer. I wiped my left hand across the fogged-up mirror, opening a small streak of half-clear reflection at eye height. The lilac-blue eyes I loved and hated--both emotions because they were unique and therefore memorable--stared back at me with a hardened, serious resolve.

"Promise me," I fiercely told the boy in the mirror. "Promise me you won't forget. Promise me that you'll keep teaching him what little you know about living until he's gone." My chest ached sharply when I said that. "And then promise me that every day, every time you catch his scent on your hair, you'll remember."

I felt stinging in my eyes then, and the mirror-boy angrily swiped a palm across his. "Promise me!" I demanded once more, leaning forward and tasting the intensity in the air.

He, too, leaned in, almost close enough to kiss me, close enough where I saw the individual swirls of periwinkle and plum and slate and lavender that made up his--our--eyes. "I promise." The words seared through the air like tiny lasers, etching into it a pact between me and the other me, the me in the mirror to whom I was always accountable. I brought my mouth to bear against his on the moist glass, consecrating our vow as my breath fogged the mirror once more. "I promise I will never forget."

But I had...

\\\

Shame, guilt, and an aching, painful sadness crashed over me; I blinked, and found myself back in the beach house shower, suds stinging my eyelashes and the sheer weight of my soapy hair giving me a crick in my neck. I ducked back under the spray to rinse, sending the bubbles swirling down my body to flirt with my toes, and glopped a second helping of shampoo on my hair while I gasped for breath and struggled for control. The memories, the images and the desperation that had birthed them had been so real. I closed my eyes and weakly scrubbed my hands over my face after I had rinsed and applied conditioner, drifting back once again as my mental fast-forward reverted to 'play' on the day Heero self-destructed.

I'm not ashamed now to admit I cried like a baby that night, sobbing until I was utterly dry, until my eyes burned and my head ached. I hadn't really cried since I was a boy--and I hadn't been that for a long time--but suddenly I was seven years old again, furious at the world and a God that would take away the only people I cared for. Worse was the raw, gaping loss; the sudden hole inside me where a few hours ago someone who mattered to me lived, breathed, and scowled. Someone...who would never have the chance for me to matter to him.

Bitter? Jaded? Who, me? Yeah, at that time I guess I was; suddenly the notion of fighting for the colonies seemed very empty, and the stakes that much higher. Protect the colonies. Destroy things. Bring down Oz. None of it mattered like it had, not with him gone. Wherever I went, I carried him with me--his scent, his memory--but my good intentions kept biting me in the ass. The promise and the memory were no longer enough. 

I had loved other people, but I had never before been _in_ love. Every piece of me yearned...mourned...for something more as I went through the motions of Gundam pilot life. I wanted that something precious that had been unjustly snatched from me. If I'd thought it would have made a difference, I'd have thrown a kicking, flailing tantrum. _Give me back my Heero!_ my inner brat screamed. Outwardly, I was moping like a lovesick woman and I didn't give a damn.

Quatre noticed--how could the spacehearted little shit _not_ notice?--but he didn't ask questions and he didn't expect answers. Yet another reason I admired him; heaven knows _I_ could never display such restraint. He let me quietly grieve and surrounded me with that amazing emotional and spiritual strength of his, asking nothing in return. I didn't cry again--not my policy, you know--but...I knew, somehow, if I needed to it wouldn't make me less in his eyes. I think that's when I first knew he was a real friend.

But just as quickly as the dream had blown out of my life (literally, mind you) he blew back in. I wasn't ready to forget, but I was finally ready to put this chapter of my life to rest with my return to space, when who showed up on the news feed but Heero Fucking Yuy in his Wing Fucking Gundam? 

How did I know it was him? Please...you can fly another's machine but you can't duplicate his style. You aren't _him,_ and as I lived and breathed it was my Heero Yuy at those controls.

It was that moment, seeing him, knowing that by some miracle my tainted love hadn't slain him, that I began to forget.

It hadn't happened immediately--the next time I saw him in person he pointed a gun at me with every intention of pulling the trigger--but little by little his incandescent, beautiful, _living_ presence chipped away at that resolve, weakened the foundation of my desperate vow. You see, no one had ever survived me, no one had ever lived again once Shinigami touched him or her. Having him on my skin, in my hair as a lifelong promise to remember became secondary when he touched me and sent me somewhere far beyond my ability to explain. Until even I didn't know the vow was there anymore.

Pavlov would have had a field day with me, I thought in disgusted, self-loathing retrospect. Show me Heero and it seemed I'd start salivating and forget anything, even that most important, most sacred covenant with myself. No wonder I was standing in the shower alone, making an awkward attempt to lock up Duo-dora's gundanium box again. What a pair we made: he was off angsting because he felt he'd wronged me, and here I was all naked and drippy doing exactly the same. All warm and fuzzy feelings aside, a small, cynical part of me insists it's either fate or a really sick joke that we're together.

Sighing, I edged the water just towards cool to rinse out the detangler, already feeling small goosebumps erupt across my skin in protest. Yeah, I get cold easily, so why was I rinsing this way? Some silly women's magazine I read once said that a cool rinse 'seals the hair shaft and helps prevent split ends.' 

Now, don't starting thinking emasculated, girlie-man things about me; what else is there to browse at the doctor's? I swear, you could go to a proctologist's office and there'd _still_ be nothing to read but women's magazines. 'Start at the roots and rinse downward,' I mentally quoted, mating action to thought. I'd be freezing under the curtain of hair by the time I finished, but vanity, even male vanity, always comes with a price.

Suddenly, my shower became a disco. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but this light mounted in the corner started frantically blinking like Saturday night at 54.[2] I abruptly cut the shower off; I was thoroughly soaked, but if we were in for some freak electrical accident, I wasn't going to _help_ myself get crispy-fried.

The light strobed again and I heard a faint jingling chime from downstairs. 'Doorbell,' my mind slowly processed, even as I staggered out of the glassed-in shower and threw on some towels, knotting one around my hips and winding my hair in the other.

Leaving a trail of wet footprints in my wake, I hurried downstairs, my brain dissecting the usual suspects for the bell-ringer. Trowa and Quatre I ruled out immediately; while they were the only ones who knew we were here, polite entry isn't exactly His Blondeness's style around me. No, he'd let himself in and plunk down in the kitchen, well on his way to putting a Gundam-sized dent in my junk food stash. Winner cannot live by tea alone. And Trowa...somehow I was sure he wouldn't knock, he would just materialize out of the shadows, like some tall, slender ghost. Not Wufei--I hadn't been able to talk to him in a few days, thanks to his and Sally's first partnered assignment: undercover, posing as a married couple somewhere in the L3 cluster. He wasn't thrilled about having to work so closely with any "onna," even that one.[3] It's too early to see if life will imitate art, but...I'm cautiously optimistic. Relena? Nah, some days even I roll yo on the come-out.[4] That meant...

I broke into a run across the wood floors. Heero must have forgotten his keys and like it or not, he would have to deal with me.

Skidding to a stop, I threw the deadbolt and yanked open the door, nearly snapping my neck with the combined weight of towel and hair it supported. "Hee...lo?"

The bemused near-elderly lady blinking at me was definitely *not* Heero. "Aa," I began, fingers creeping up towards the back of my neck as I nervously grinned, "can I help you?"

***

[1] My beta reader asked me if this is a real shampoo, and the answer is yes. It's actually a generic version of Paul Mitchell's Tea Tree shampoo. It has the most heavenly, unforgettable smell. An old bottle of it that found its way into my shower was the inspiration for the shower scene and Duo's promise about Heero.

[2] Club 54,_ the_ place to party in the 1970's. Slang for a wild disco

[3] 'Onna' is one of many Japanese words for 'woman'. Said frequently by Wufei in the series, rather derisively. As a note, there is a pending side story detailing exactly what happened in Wufei and Sally's first assignment. ^_^

[4] In craps, you have to roll seven or eleven on the first roll (the come-out) or you lose. Eleven is often referred to by gamblers as 'yo', according to my Vegas-traveled brother. ^_^


	10. Innocence Faded 10

Innocence Faded Part 10

She studied me for another moment, as if she hadn't quite understood my question, and blinked some more. She resembled nothing so much as a befuddled, bespectacled, white-haired owl. "You have on a towel," she said at last.

Oh, thank you, Granny Obvious. "Yes..." I drawled out, shifting self-consciously--I'm not particularly shy, but I have issues with giving an old lady the full Duo, namely whether I could be held liable if she keeled over from the sight. Said towel defiantly edged down my hips, and I had to grab quick before Granny got an eyeful.

If she noticed I nearly flashed her, she was too polite to say so. "Are you Mr. Maxwell or Mr. Yuy?"

Warning sirens. For all I knew, Granny was a trained assassin or a bad prank from the Strip-o-Gram place, neither of which was a pleasant scenario. I casually maneuvered my free hand back inside the doorframe, palming at it for anything I could use as a weapon if need be. "Maxwell. Duo Maxwell." Not exactly James Bond, I know; if I was, Granny would be a Japanese guy wearing nothing more than a puff of well-placed Silly String...that is, in the reality where 007 likes other guys.

She squinted at me again. "How do you ever get all that hair up under one towel?" It was my turn to blink in confusion; okay, so I look like some sort of giant-headed space alien when I get out of the shower, but how did she know about my hair?

While I pondered that, she shook her head and fluttered one hand in an absent wave of dismissal. "I'm Mrs. McCormick," Granny declared. My answering look must have been closer to blank non-comprehension than epiphany, because she picked up a bucket from the porch and bustled past me, various plastic bottles and implements inside it clattering merrily as she walked. "I'm your new cleaning lady. Francis Eileen McCormick, but you can just call me Granny Fran. Mr. Barton said that you had very long hair and Mr. Yuy had short, but I couldn't be certain with you..." her hand traveled up and down in a vague gesture, indicating my state of relative undress.

Cleaning lady? Mr. Barton? Would the surprises never end? I thought I had seen everything three days ago when the vintage black convertible arrived. [1] It was the one thing that had heightened my mood when Heero started disappearing, punishing himself for a perceived unforgivable lack of control. I don't think he realized in doing so he was also punishing me, that this sudden, gaping distance after two days of blissful, beautiful closeness (closeness I had incessantly lusted after, dreamed of, and prayed for) hurt me a hell of a lot more than some unintentionally rough (but utterly mind-blowing) sex.

Granny gave me the owl-eyes again. I think she had said something that strangely got lost in between the mental images of Heero and me...well, you know. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" I grinned in what I hoped was a disarmingly cute fashion.

"Would you like me to start upstairs or downstairs? Probably down--you still look rather wet. Why don't you put on some clothes and then come back down to talk to me?" I nodded, and she flipped an electronic organizer my way, which I managed to catch and not drop the towel. Point for me. "I'll be here twice a month, more if you need me. The schedule is in the PDA, so pick what you want for your regular times. If you're going to be out of town, you can leave keys for me, or reschedule, whichever is easiest. Shoo, go get dressed." She motioned me towards the stairs and I dutifully obeyed.

About half an hour later I found myself seated at the bar in the kitchen, staring a hot bowl of soup and a grilled cheese sandwich--perfectly browned and diagonally cut--in the face while Granny Fran combed and braided my hair. (Yeah, it was a little early for lunch fare, but I'm never one to turn down a home-cooked meal that I didn't cook.) I'd been reluctant to submit to it, but something about her was kind and soothing in a half-forgotten way.

Then again, it might have been the way she gently wrestled the comb out of my hand and intimidated me into the chair before I could do more than blink. You see, I so rarely let other people touch my hair; to me, it's an incredibly intimate experience, and I barely managed to swallow lunch around the sudden nostalgia-knot in my throat, struggling _not_ to dwell on the last time a relative maternal figure had braided for me. I think I was doomed to stroll down memory lane, though, from the moment I shampooed up.

She kept up a steady stream of relatively one-sided chatter; it felt strange to be on the silent end of things for once, but not uncomfortable. I absently worried the tails of my unbuttoned shirt between my fingers as she spoke, watching a pair of dust motes dance in the late morning sunshine warming the kitchen from the overhead skylight. Whoever designed this place had a real gift for utilizing open spaces and light; the usage of glass made it appear fragile and delicate, but in truth it was sturdy and durable. Indeed, it seemed only the occupants bordered on breakable. Contentment and rumination had almost lulled me into a near-sleep when she asked me a pointed question that snapped my eyes open. "Is that him? Mr. Yuy, your roommate?"

I glanced around the room, wondering how the hell Heero came in without my noticing, until I looked where Granny Fran was pointing. The lone, homey decoration on our refrigerator, aside from the cloyingly cheerful collection of magnets that apparently came as standard Sanctuary equipment, was a creased, faded photograph taken during the war, one that more often than not had resided folded up inside my clothing. It was the only picture I had of Heero...more, he was actually smiling in it.

Okay, so in truth 'smiling' meant he wasn't glaring and his mouth didn't entirely pull up at the corners, but for him, it was a smile, a single, genuine expression forever frozen in time. And, God, I was touching him in it, one arm enthusiastically flung around his shoulders and my other hand flashing a cocky V for victory sign. The backdrop of some crumbly old building rose behind us, the main hall of one of the schools we attended together, and we both wore tanktops and shorts, slightly sweaty from a fiercely competitive game of basketball. "Yeah," I said tonelessly, my voice sounding thick as molasses, "that's Heero." I had every line and curve and angle of that Kodak face memorized, even where the crease ran down its left side like a scar. 

"Handsome boy," Granny mused, nimble fingers securing the black elastic band over the end of my braid and patting my head gently. "Both of you. Mr. Barton didn't mention my new clients would be such attractive young men." She hummed tunelessly under her breath, and I took advantage of the conversational lull to inhale half my sandwich and a good measure of soup. "You know, I have two single granddaughters I would love to introduce you to..."

Somewhere in that sentence, my brain forgot the first rule of successful eating: don't breathe while swallowing. I exploded into a violent coughing fit as my body decided it wasn't designed to respirate tomato soup. "Me?" I wheezed in between coughs.

Granny whacked me on the back until I stopped choking long enough to take a drink of whatever she shoved in my hand; tea, I think, but polluted with so much sugar I nearly gagged. Nevertheless, at least I could breathe again, even if it felt like my teeth had grown fur. "Both of you. They're such sweet girls, I'm so proud of them both, and I know they'd be thrilled to get to know such good-looking boys as you two..." she gushed, with the effusive sincerity only possible by immediate family.

Why was I suddenly remembering that saying about 'no such thing as a free lunch?' Apparently it held true even in my own kitchen. Swallowing another drink, grimacing sharply and clearing my throat, I excused myself to the office, ostensibly so she could clean upstairs, and made my exit with all due haste. I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to introduce my forehead to the wall...

***

I emerged some time later, stalking down the hall to the white living room once I heard the front door close. Glancing around, I had to hand it to Granny; the place looked like the Clean Fairy had zapped it. Before, it was spic, but now bore 'span' after it with about thirty exclamation points. I'm not a complete slob, but of all the valuable skills I learned as a Gundam pilot, operating a vacuum didn't quite make the cut. I checked the bottoms of my feet for dirt before sitting cross-legged on the pristine sofa and tapping a code on the vidphone. A conversation with "Mr. Barton" was definitely in order.

Trowa looked disgustingly neat when he answered the vidphone, in this celluloid college-professor sort of way. He'd obviously been working on the computer, because he wore his reading glasses, these small, sideways-rectangular shaped ones perched just on the end of that straight, perfect nose. Trowa was the first one of us I noticed had gained height and breadth during that separate year; he'd shot up to close to six feet already, long hands and feet hinting at more to come. "Duo," he greeted calmly, taking the glasses off and placing them on his desk.

"Explain." Two could play at one-word conversation.

"Specify."

Ouch, he got me there. "All of it. There's a strobe light in my bathroom, an old lady hell-bent on matchmaking me to at least one of her granddaughters, and a black convertible parked outside of a house snatched straight from my most intimate and private dreams." I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned; I have nothing on Heero's glare, but I've been told I pout well. "I have a few questions."

"Already with the granddaughters? She must like you a lot," Trowa mused, so softly I think I wasn't intended to hear him. He glanced up at me, that lone visible eye serious and...vaguely amused? My frown deepened; six feet tall or not, I could probably still take him in a knock-down-drag-out. Probably. I eyed those shoulders again and grudgingly revised that to a 'maybe.'

"I'll start with the easy ones, then. The light is a device adapted from those for the hearing-impaired; even in peacetime it's not a good idea to be caught unawares, even by the cleaning lady or pizza delivery," he said, calmly holding up one finger as he imparted his wisdom, almost like a university lecturer. Wouldn't surprise me to learn he was teaching history to legions of adoring freshman fangirls. "The car all but screamed your name the first time we saw it," he continued, thoughtfully tapping his chin with his professor-finger. "We picked it out months ago but couldn't figure out exactly how and when to surprise you with it. Granny Fran...she cleans for us and four of Quatre's sisters...the ones that live in the States...and since she's been unsuccessful in pairing us up with her granddaughters, I thought she might have better luck with you."

I glared at him, and even though the aura of maddening calm never left his face, I somehow knew he was laughing his ass off at me. "You could have warned me, you know. I was all but naked when she came to the door."

"Then it's good that she got to inspect the merchandise early." He chuckled softly, leaning in closer to the vidscreen and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "I'll warn you, she doesn't exactly comprehend male-male relationships. She walked in once on Quatre and me having sex, and without batting an eye calmly asked if we were done with the clothes on the floor, and then left the granddaughters' new school pictures on the nightstand."

I slapped a hand over my eyes to keep them in my head. "You're kidding."

"Truth is stranger than fiction, Duo." I peeked through my fingers at him as he shot me an incorrigible, 'I know a secret' grin. "Fiction has to make sense." Then, he laughed...not the amused, near-condescending chuckles one could coax from him, but a real, full-bodied laugh that shook his shoulders and jiggled his bangs.

Seeing him laugh was so damned funny I couldn't help it; I laughed with him until tears leaked out of my eyes and my ribs ached. "Y'know, Trowa," I gasped out at last, swiping the heel of my hand under my eyelashes, "if this was some sort of 'glad you're my friends' gesture, you could have just sent a card. Hallmark is much simpler than all this."

He gave me a swift, fierce shake of his head, something almost...untamed staring out from those verdant eyes as the laughter died in them. More than enough to shut me up; self-preservation does that for you. "That wouldn't have been enough, Duo. If I've learned one thing in the past year, it's how the people who are important to us need to be shown that we care. Life is far too short to do otherwise."

That lanky body slouched tightly down in the chair with a sigh, a sudden, bitter reminder that none of us were more than seventeen...boys that shouldn't even be out of high school, much less bearing the weight of two wars on our shoulders. Boys who collectively knew little more about the world than fighting to save or destroy it. Tragedy, miracle, or both that any of us survived.

"I've never been exceptional in expressing my own feelings out loud with words," he began, gaze shifting to someplace I couldn't quite see, someplace far inside himself. "For all that we have some similarities in our backgrounds, you and I couldn't be more different that way. Quatre has been infinitely patient with me as I stumble through it, and I've...failed, more times than I can count, but I'm learning that I don't have to be that closed-off person anymore." There was a slight hint of defiance as he said it, though whether he was trying to prove it to me or to him I wasn't sure.

Trowa shook his head, an ironic, self-deprecating twist of a smile curling one corner of his mouth. "You're right, you know; Hallmark _is_ a lot simpler." One finger tapped impatiently, nervously on the edge of his desk, the light from a candle out of my view dancing through the long strands of his bangs. "But a card takes the words of someone else and uses them as your own. To me, that's almost like stealing. Words still fail me sometimes, but they need to be mine before I can use them." Strangely, that made sense, and I gave him what I hoped was a 'go on' nod.

His posture unfurled a bit, as though my implied understanding blunted some of his tension. "In lieu of the right thing to say, I find I can use tangible things to make myself clear. When I performed, I enjoyed making strangers smile with my act, but it's so much more meaningful when what I do pleases my friends." His eyes met mine, eloquence themselves in that jeweled gaze. "With you, it was easy." Some of the usual confidence returned to his face, shadowed by a gentle understanding. "I know what it's like not to have a home...or a name."

"You planned all of this..." Not an accusation, but more of an incredulous whisper tumbled from my lips.

His smile--once almost as rare as Heero's, but no longer--turned shy, self-conscious. "I bought the beachfront land about six months ago. The architect I met at a WEI party and he managed to put exactly what was in my head down on paper. The crew was Sanctuary's, of course--I wouldn't have been able to pull any of this off without Becky." His face warmed, like when he talked about Cathrine; apparently, this sister had definitely welcomed and adopted Trowa.

I supposed, in that part of my mind that still had functional firing neurons, it was like my relationship with Hilde, though somehow I doubted that Trowa had ever tried to, albeit unsuccessfully, sleep with either of those sisters like I had with mine. She'd understood, of course, when I couldn't go through with it, but I still didn't know if I could ever completely grovel my way out of that one.

He'd paused in speaking, calmly waiting and watching me with that somewhat-puzzled look I recognized from another recent vidphone call. The eyes were green, the hair was brown, but the expression was all Quatre. Was this what people meant about couples starting to resemble one another? Fortunately, my mental process was dutiful enough to spit back the past several seconds of conversation and an appropriate response. Go me. "I notice no mention of a certain blonde...?"

If I didn't know better, I'd swear Strong and Silent blushed. He rolled those thin lips over his teeth until they practically disappeared, palms extended in front of him in guilty surrender. "I...didn't tell Quatre exactly what I had in mind until construction was well under way. It's not that we need permission to do things on our own, but no matter my intentions it was a secret I had kept from him, and thus he was furious...for about two hours. Then, as punishment, he made me go shopping for all of the interior pieces. That's why so much of it is white..." Again, he gave me that helpless, hands-spread gesture of male confusion. "I knew it would go together."

The impossible had happened; I was struck speechless. Vague things resembling words all tried to crawl out of my mouth, but emerged as nothing more than stammered breaths. Out of all the other guys, Trowa had been the one from whom I'd always felt most distant. Yes, he was aloof, yes, he was reserved, but so was Heero and that sure the hell hadn't stopped me with him, ne? So why had I never gotten close to Trowa?

Because he hadn't told me Heero was alive. And I had hated him for it.

***

[1] Seen the car in 'Angel'? That's the one. Suffice it to say it's well-suited to a black-wearing bishounen. ^^;


	11. Innocence Faded 11

Innocence Faded Part 11 

All of the air rushed out of my lungs as, for the second time that day, realization violently slammed me in the gut. I fought the urge to be sick all over the newly clean floor, as though purging my insides could rid me of the poison I'd carried around and never acknowledged until now. Duo Maxwell never lies, but he's capable of serious self-delusion. I swallowed hard past the bitter shame, stalling until I was sure I wouldn't heave. 

After a few more deep breaths, I raised my eyes, ready to come clean, bring it into the open and beg his forgiveness for misjudging him. I didn't know how much groveling it would take, but I'd gladly do it.

The words never left my mouth. Trowa shook his head, the barest flick of motion indicating he'd moved at all. "I didn't expect him to survive. I didn't even think he was alive until I got back to the circus and noticed he was still breathing. All I was thinking then was I had to get him away, to make sure OZ didn't get their hands on his body, not after what he'd done to make sure the colonies survived. To make sure _we_ survived...to finish what was started."

"All I had to put him back together with was a glorified field kit. Every day, I expected to come in and find him dead." His lips quirked, but it was more grimace than smile. "Cathrine kept asking questions and I didn't have any answers, not ones that I could trust if they found their way to the right ears." He sighed, but the sound was steel, strong and unyielding. "Contacting you, or Quatre, would have been signing all of our death warrants."

Green eyes caught me then, pierced through me like a bullet and I flinched. I'd swear Trowa was psychic, he was hitting so close to the mark. I'd been told before that most everything I'm thinking shows on my face, but I never thought it was really true. I thought I was better at hiding than that, but he had me dead to rights. 

"And what if I had told you? What if I told you, and you risked all our lives to find us...just to watch him die?" His lips quirked again, but this time the smile won out. "I'm not sorry, Duo. I'm not sorry for trying to spare you that, and I'm not sorry for trying to keep the rest of us alive. Given the opportunity to do it all again... I'd do the same thing."

Of all the things he could have said, the ways he could have reacted, this was the one I least expected, and the one I should have most anticipated. Unfortunately, my brain was spinning its wheels somewhere in the vicinity of 'signing all our death warrants'.

Why? Because it made sense. Because it had been for the greater good. Wasn't that why we'd been sent to Earth in the first place? Aside from the whole 'destroy OZ, peace for the colonies through terrorism' angle, that is. We were tools, instruments used in shaping an existence where planet and colony could coexist, neither master nor slave but...as something closer to equals. Held up alongside that important goal, the inconvenience of my would-be lovelife woes seemed very small. I didn't go to Earth to hang out, sightsee, or gawk in amazement at so much water in any one place. I sure the hell hadn't gone to get laid or fall in love.

Amazing how we can lose sight of our priorities in view of a nice spandex-covered tush.

I felt faintly dizzy, like I was flying too high without oxygen. My lips tried for words again, but Trowa forced them back down my throat with a flick of his hand. "Don't apologize, Duo. You can be sorry for being selfish, but never be sorry for being human." The self-conscious smile came back, but something else supported it, warm and honest. "Besides, you made things right with me a long time ago."

He didn't specify. He didn't have to. In my mind, I could see Quatre Raberba Winner as I had that day on his colony. I was hardly one to criticize, but he looked far too thin, deep hollows carved in cheeks starved of their baby fat. Skinny shoulders bent from carrying a too-heavy burden of guilt. The worst had been the eyes: empty, lonely eyes with no light left in them, even when he spoke of fighting for peace.

Just like my eyes when I thought Heero was dead.

' I don't think I can be forgiven, but I want to risk everything to atone,' he'd said, small hands clenching a china teacup. [1] It was a familiar concept he spoke of; Catholics are all about atonement. I knew too well the feeling that you'd killed those you cared about most.

And I remembered just how hard this fragile-looking tower of strength had fought to get my head back in the game after Heero blew himself up. Never prying, never pressing, just supporting and waiting while gradually directing me back to the path. It hadn't been his fault Heero pulled a Jesus Christ on me and walked among the living again. He didn't know. He hadn't seen or heard from Trowa then, either. 

But if he had, I knew he would have told me. He might have had to tie me down by my hair to keep me from doing something stupid, but he would have told me.

Trowa's terrified face had flashed in front of my mind again, blank and devoid of any recognition, and the angry knife-throwing girl shielding him like a mother bear does a helpless cub. I didn't want to put Quatre through seeing him like that, not when guilt was already pulling him under. But I owed it to him, and I never liked being in debt to anyone else. 'If you're looking for the other Gundam pilots, you'll want to see him, too, I guess.' [1]

I saw the mind behind his eyes make the calculation in a millisecond, and a small seed of hope bloom past the pain. He shot up out of the chair. 'Duo...do you mean...?' [1]

I told him where I'd seen Trowa. After a few phone calls, I watched his shuttle blast off into the colony night, hoping that what I'd done was the right thing.

"It was." Green eyes drew me back into the present.

Dammit, I have really got to keep my inner monologue inner. "I still should've told him you wouldn't recognize him." _C'mon, Trowa, let me hold onto some of this guilt. I'm not quite ready to forgive myself completely._

The graceful, boneless shrug slid off his shoulders. "Everything has a way of working out, Duo. Don't give up on that yet."

I was about to ask him just what he meant by that, but he beat me to the punch again. And I once thought this guy was _quiet_? Sheesh. "For example, did you know Quatre nearly peed himself when you called last week, asking for advice about a house? Until you kept talking, he was certain we'd been found out."

"You're shitting me! He sure didn't act like it." I almost made the dignified, commanding, poised Winner heir wet his pants?

"Business demands a lot of him," Trowa returned, dryly serious. "He's had to learn to control such urges with his life in the public eye. Nothing makes the news feeds like a little incontinence." Mischievous smile tugging at his lips, he settled back in his chair, crossing arms and legs in one fluid motion. "But, even that worked out, didn't it?" I had to admit he was right; the house was amazing, and the planning and preparation that had gone into it left my head spinning.

"The last year has meant changes for all of us, and I'm sure this next one will bring even more. But they're so much easier to survive when you aren't alone." He craned his neck, as though trying to look around my living room. "Is Heero there? I'd really like to talk to him for a while."

A guilty flush rocketed up my cheeks and I squirmed on the couch, muttering something unintelligible.

"Where's Heero?" Those green eyes searched my face, a furrow appearing between his brows. Clearly it hadn't crossed his mind I might have called for another reason besides the house. Oh well, not like it occurred to me, either. "Is something wrong, Duo?"

"Not here. I don't know where. Yes." I shook my head, bracing myself against the tempest of feeling his words had brought to the surface. Sympathy from almost anyone else I could handle, but not Trowa, and especially not then. We depend on him for strength, not softness, and despite all we'd discussed part of me still felt my stance with him was fragile. His eyes gently dissected me, waiting for me to speak, and I squished the urge to lay right down and bawl. After all, I still had some shreds of pride left.

""He's been avoiding me," I admitted, finally putting into words the events of the past several days. "Things got a little...intense our first night here, and..." I held out my hands in a mute entreaty for answers. "He thinks he hurt me. And he won't believe otherwise, no matter what I tell him." I'd tried several things to get through to him, nothing working. He had me at arms' length or farther away at all times. Not like he came around me much in the last week. I just didn't know what to do. A proverb about glass houses and stones tickled my mind, or maybe it was just the shattered-crystal sound of my heart breaking.

Trowa cocked his head to one side, eyes unfocusing slightly as though he were taking a moment to carefully examine the information from all angles. "Understand, Heero is a soldier," he said at last, his gaze slowly tracking back to me. "Hurting people is what he has done for as long as he can remember. Peace was supposed to stop that. How could he _ever_ forgive himself if he hurts the one closest to him?" He leaned towards the screen slightly, as though willing me to understand. "What are his mission parameters, Duo?" he asked quietly. "If he has set himself to a task, he won't allow himself to fail."

I wondered if perhaps Trowa wasn't only talking about Heero and being a soldier, the lone coherent thought amidst my fidgeting with the raw desire to _do_ something. "The whole parameter mindset's the problem," I snapped. The words' bitterness stayed on my tongue long after I'd spit them out. "He's attending to it right now, Trowa. Heero's protecting _me_...from himself. He leaves in the morning, usually comes home late at night, barely speaks to me. I try to get close and he shies away...not always with his body, but inside." I tugged on the left front of my shirt for emphasis.

"He's holding back, and I can't make him understand that he didn't really hurt me," I growled out in frustration, flipping the end of my braid over my shoulder so violently it swung around and flopped against my other cheek. I was near exploding with the urge to move, to pace, to set to action the spin-cycle of feelings churning in me. For lack of something better, I settled for fidgeting, changing positions at least twice a minute.

Herr Professor's response was, predictably, more thoughtful silence. "Sometimes," he began, carefully folding his hands in front of him, "it's easy to forget how inexperienced Heero is. He is so strong and capable in everything else he does, we don't realize that in some things he simply doesn't know what to do." His gaze had drifted downward to his hands, and once again I felt that odd sense that he was speaking, not simply about Heero...but from a much more personal perspective. "Sometimes, all he needs is for someone to take his hand and show him the way." A slight, gentle smile curved Trowa's lips as he glanced up at me again. "He can't lead if he doesn't know where he's going."

That gave me pause, enough to send my rising freneticism into relative stillness. I settled back on the sofa with my ankles crossed and my knees hiked up as props for my elbows, chin in my hand and studying Trowa's flat image on the screen. Certainly, the words 'Heero' and 'inexperienced' had never occurred to me in the same sentence before, except for our very first night together. Talk about the blind leading the blind, or, rather, the virginal leading the virginal. We were clumsy, awkward, and hasty, having little concept of what was appropriate or proper. I'd hurt like hell the next day--and not just because of the generous hospitality of the OZ penal system[2]--and couldn't really sit right for three more, but the skies had fallen, the earth had moved, and I knew I would have done anything to be with him forever.

The more I thought about what Trowa said, though, the more sense it made. It's moments like this that I'm glad I have this small, tight group of friends, because I sometimes get too wound up to see the obvious, too charged by the sheer intensity of what I feel, and I need the wisdom that is in their eyes. Though he doesn't always offer it, Trowa's wisdom is some of the best. That he would still offer it to me, knowing how I had despised him and that secret he kept, was a far greater gift than the house. It was hope, hope that it wasn't too late to heal our camaraderie, or to heal things between me and Heero.

_Take his hand. Show him the way._

"Does this mean Quatre and I are alike, too?" I asked, lacing my fingers together so my forearms were perpendicularly balanced atop my knees. Already, a nervous, desperate plan was whirring in my mind, something that just might be bold enough to make Heero's ass mine.

His smile broadened slightly, a gleam in his eyes as he tacitly acknowledged that I had struck the mark. "In some ways, perhaps. Not all."

"I know I couldn't deal with, well, being him," I said, with a vague gesticulation of my hands meant to encompass the world's weight of responsibilities that Quatre carted around on his slender shoulders, "nearly as well as he does." We both knew, I think, that I was stalling, trying to delay or deny the inevitable conclusion.

He set the glasses back on his nose with an elegant flair. They gave his expression a more serious cant once again, combined with that lean body neatly folded into his seat. "Heero cares, Duo. He wouldn't be with you, wouldn't care whether he hurt you, if he didn't."

While not entirely a conscious decision, the mechanics of my sexual relationship with Heero had always seemed to flow a certain way. Not a matter of submission, mind you--neither of us are spaghetti-spined--but more like...batting order. Granted, said mechanics had abruptly reversed course in Brussels, but that was in a moment built on desperation and a frantic bid to turn Heero's thoughts away from self-destruction. While not the firmest foundation, suicide prevention was, in my mind, far sturdier than the shifting sands comprising this new motivation. 'I want to fuck you so you will stop running away' sounds so...needy. Ugh.

I glanced back at Trowa, still floundering. Was I reading him correctly? If it were possible for guileless and smug to both share the same bland facade, yes. More, I had the strangest sensation he was challenging me. He had been largely responsible for engineering our move here, but the look in his eyes dared me. He is the adult of our small group, the quiet and strong niichan [3] who, in his own tacit way, protects every one of us, not just Quatre. 

That protection especially applies to Heero--pissed as it made me for some time, I had to admit that Heero was alive today only because of him--and I slowly understood why. Heero cared, Trowa said...and he was asking if _I_ cared, too. How much did I care? Was I man enough to fight for what I wanted, even if it shoved me face-first out of my comfort zone? Was I willing to do whatever it took?

Ultimately, I had only one answer. I think he knew that, too.

Trowa watched me like a hawk, offering no respite from the intense glitter of the single emerald eye that showed beneath his jagged auburn hair. At last he nodded, as though sensing the tenor of the thoughts whirling through my mind. "You understand?" he asked quietly.

That brief, embarrassingly naughty clutter of images ran back through my head as I worried my lower lip between my teeth. "Yeah, I think I do. I promised I wouldn't leave him alone, Trowa. I need him." Tilting my head just a bit, one corner of my mouth snaked up in a very slight smile. "Though, these are not the kind of thoughts a good Catholic boy should be having..."

The tall boy laughed, and the laughter held an almost wicked edge to it. "No, I don't suppose they are... but I don't think a good Catholic boy is what Heero needs."

"It's a good thing I'm a bad Catholic boy then, ne?" Had I wasted so much time in being subconsciously angry that I'd never noticed how much fun Trowa could be? That year we all spent apart seemed to have been exceptionally kind to him...he was more open, if still on the reticent side, he laughed, even teased, yet without losing his chameleon's edge. _If this is what a year alone with Quatre could do for him, what could a year alone with me do for Heero...?_

At that point, my insides and much of my brain were reduced to mush, leaving behind just enough ecchi thoughts to have me shifting positions on the couch. Some small part of me felt shame at how quickly the battle instincts rose to the surface, but ultimately the five of us are fighters no matter the circumstances. Divide and conquer, I decided. Divide the doubts and conquer the body. And lay claim once more to the brilliant, beautiful soul inside. "I just found him again. I'm not about to let him go," I declared fiercely.

"I'm glad." He looked down, that introspective, thoughtful look once more claiming his features. "I'm glad he has you." He closed his eyes briefly, taking a slow breath, a small bit of static interference on the screen coinciding with his gentle sigh. "It's not easy for the soldier to survive when the war is gone." Once again I thought I glimpsed some brief, subtle implication that he was not simply speaking for Heero. "Help him find sanctuary, Duo."

Sanctuary. Something clicked in my brain when he said that. "The real estate company, it was your idea?" I only half phrased it in the form of a question. Who would know better how to transition soldiers into human beings than a soldier himself?

He inclined his head in a brief, affirmative nod. "Not entirely mine. In truth, you should thank Becky. Her husband was an Earth Federation soldier, and in looking for some way to help both of us adjust more completely we came up with Sanctuary. She does most of the work," he ruefully admitted, tugging the glasses back off, "but I helped bring it to Quatre's attention. The concept of it touches something very deep and personal in the both of us." 

He was reflectively silent, and then the devilish smile returned full-force. "As for you and Heero, I'd suggest a little warm, scented massage oil." Widening, that little smile became a touch more wicked, silvered flecks frolicking through his verdant eye. "I'll let you figure out what to do with it."

Trowa's implications were impossible to ignore. I'm not sure if they conjured in my mind exactly what he intended, but the images made me want to crank on the air conditioner. And wonder where the hell one found something like scented massage oil in this small town. If I was blushing, though, I damn sure wasn't going to admit it. Nor would I admit my relative ignorance in this matter. Male pride is a horrible cross to bear, but it's mine and I've earned it.

He eyed me for a long moment, and I had a funny feeling he was trying hard not to laugh again. "Check the top drawer of the nightstand. I suspect Quatre may have left you a few provisions." The lips twitched, the eyes danced. "He's helpful that way."

Word of advice? When Trowa Barton grins at you like that, run. I made a mental note never to open that nightstand for fear of what I might find. You laugh, but I have a very vivid imagination...

We talked a little longer before he gracefully steered the subject towards less emotionally taxing issues--news of Quatre's business dealings, a funny anecdote Cathrine had shared in her latest letter, well-wishes from the Maguanac corps. I gathered from this conversation that he and Quatre frequently spent time during the week at WEI on L4 and weekended on Earth. Made me wonder what the heck he did with his time, since there'd been no mention of the circus in present tense. 

He pushed his glasses back on and I teased him about becoming an old man of seventeen, threatening to give him a shawl and a walker the next time I saw him. I took it a step further and said that his bangs were really a cover-up for a receding hairline. He laughed and tagged me back by insisting _ my_ hair was an obvious attempt to compensate for some other inadequacy. It felt...good, this playing back and forth. 

It felt right, as though the world had been grossly out of balance before. Instead of fixing it earlier in the game, I had simply adjusted to how it was, learned to function on a tilted axis. Talking to Trowa, getting all of that out of my system, homeostasis had been restored, and the ground beneath me at last felt solid enough to stand on. I didn't deserve his support or his friendship, but I was thankful to have them both.

"I hate to cut the conversation short," Trowa said, "but Quatre will be home soon and I have to at least pretend I earned my keep today." He undid the top button of his shirt, fanning the material slightly apart at the neck. "I'm glad you called, Duo. I've been wanting, meaning to talk about all this with you for a while. I guess I just never made the time. I'm sorry."

I shook my head, wry smile curving my mouth. "Is this how our conversations are going to go from now on, endless successful and attempted apologies? No," I answered my own question, "that would probably get very boring. How about...I just say thanks? Thanks...for everything." _For not hating me, for believing that I'm worthy of Heero, for setting aside this pocket of perfection for our new lives._

Trowa leaned in once again towards the vid screen, the top of his head completely disappearing from my view. "He needs you so much, Duo. The words may not be there, but...don't forget that he needs you. It's _so_ hard when summoning even the simplest caring words is a foreign concept." Real pain showed in his eye, and I realized that Trowa was trying to spare us some of what he and Quatre had been through. 

"Believe in him, Duo. Believe that what the two of you can have is worth fighting for." That small smile curved his mouth like a bow. "You're like Quatre in that way, too." One final glance exchanged, he disconnected the call, leaving me alone in my living room with a blank vidphone.

And a challenge I couldn't refuse.

"I'll do it," I said to the empty air, knowing Trowa was gone but believing that somehow he heard me. I stood up, seized with the sudden thought that if I was an anime character, there would be crashing waves against the cliffs in the background as I declared my intentions. If only life were as simple as anime...

Nevertheless, I clutched one hand into a fist at chest height; it couldn't hurt to play along with my mental imagery.

"I'll fight for him."

***

However, I couldn't do anything until Heero returned, and waiting has never been my strong point. I was determined to fight for him, but the longer I had to concoct mental pictures of my perfect seduction going down in flames, the more nervous I became. And obsessive. I rewashed the dishes Granny Fran left in the drying rack. I organized the refrigerator--first alphabetically, then by color. I brushed my teeth twelve times. I even flossed - never mind that I only recently learned it was for teeth and not something else. Frantic action was but a temporary substitute for what I wanted to do, and the only way to keep myself steadily breathing.

That same panic that gripped me in a dormitory shower had me in a stranglehold while I paced in the kitchen, stealing furtive glances at the snapshot of faded innocence on the fridge. The Duo I was then hadn't been shy about touching Heero, despite the gigantic cultural gap concerning physical contact. Even before I knew how I felt, my hands had a mind of their own, eager to reinforce tangibility between us. Stupid, insane, or both back then; now, I was just scared.

Too much was riding on this, I thought, and what made my insides ache was knowing if I fucked this up, I could kiss goodbye any kind of future with Heero. It would be over before it even started.

I snatched the picture out from under the magnet, studying with care that beloved face. "We just got here, Heero," I whispered, stroking the edge of my finger across his forehead; what I wouldn't give to ruffle those bangs in person. "You can't give up yet. Running and hiding is what I do." The knot in my throat made it hard to swallow. "I'm not sure I know how to find, but I want to try. For you, I'd try anything." 

Crossing the few steps to the glass deck doors, I noticed the sun cast long, ruddy reflections of itself across the infinite waters as it drew closer to setting. That's right, days were shorter in January, despite the relatively mild California climate. Twilight would soon draw her blanket of stars and night over the world, but it didn't seem possible the day had mostly passed. 

I leaned my forehead against the glass, ignoring the smudge I left, and let its cool touch usher stillness back into me. The distant rush of ocean filled my ears as I watched the waves faithfully return to the shore. Me returning to Heero. Heero returning to me. Timeless. Constant. I closed my eyes, letting my breathing gradually slow and calm in time with the tides.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw a slender, familiar figure, shoulders slumped and head bowed in thought, drift across the beach near tide's edge. With a resigned posture, he sank down onto the blanket I'd carelessly left on the sands yesterday, staring out at the waters. Everything about him--the hunched posture, the turned back, the self-imposed exile--screamed 'Leave me alone. I deserve to be alone.'

But I couldn't, especially not when he looked so lost. I'd promised him I wouldn't leave him alone, and it was a vow I'd die keeping. The mists of confusion and hesitance I'd been feeling melted away, leaving me at last with clear eyes and firm resolve. 

Fuck the Duo Maxwell curse. I loved him. I needed him and he needed me. If I were to give up now, to withdraw and walk away and abandon him to this world he didn't yet understand, I would be killing him, as guilty as if I'd pulled the trigger.

"Not on your life, Yuy." I whispered, kissing the picture and tacking it back up on the fridge. "You're mine."

Crossing back to the French doors leading to the deck, and then soundlessly descending to the sands, I pointed my finger like a gun towards my distant lover, pulling it back just enough to pantomime the kick of the real thing.

_Ninmu ryoukai._

***

[1] Taken from the fan translations of episode 38, courtesy of gundamwing.net

[2] Episode 19, when Heero breaks Duo out of the OZ prison

[3] "Niichan" is Japanese for 'big brother'. Depending on politeness, it can also be said as 'oniichan'. 


	12. Innocence Faded 12

Innocence Faded Part 12 

Wind whipped the rising swells into faint echoes of the clouds above, belling the wings of a gull as it circled over the water, eyes fixed on some unseen goal. The surf flirted coyly with my toes before rushing back down the sand like a shy girl at one of Relena's fancy parties, going back to whisper with its sister waves...perhaps having something insightful to say about the look on my face...or the fact that instead of glaring I watched quietly, trying to puzzle out a world I had always understood as coordinates and neatly couched objectives, instead of...instead...of....

Did you know that the ocean is beautiful at late afternoon? The sun slants in just so and turns the water to silver and gold. It's beautiful...I'd never noticed it before, not really. I felt like someone waking from a long sleep to a world unlike the one he remembers. Everything was new and strange, unfamiliar because I'd never taken the time, or known to look in a way to see it as it was. It was Duo's world, one he embraced with fierce joy, one in which I could never be more than a transient...out of place, never belonging. 

Bowing my head, I wrapped my arms a little more tightly around my knees. Somehow keeping my body secure made me feel more in control of the rest of myself. It was the one thing in my life that remained unchanged.

Sighing, I looked out over the water again, following the path of the gull as it swooped low to capture a surfacing fish. This--this dream--couldn't work. To hope it might had been foolish, it was impossible in too many ways to number. I wasn't quite sure what I would do if something happened to Duo. There were nightmares, ones where I had his blood on my hands, could smell it on my skin...I wouldn't let myself remember the rest. It was better, safer, to keep him at a distance than to risk that. I'm dangerous, death cloaked in false tenderness. 

My body clamored in protest at being kept away from his, but it was simply another need, a response that could be trained into submission like all the others. It was the ache that wasn't purely physical that I was concerned about... The need to hold and be held, to be close...to just _be_, together.

"Kuso," I swore softly, hiding my face against my knees as I rocked back and forth, trying to fight down the hurt inside. "Ore wa baka desu yo..." [1]

***

"Iya. Omae wa baka ja nai." [2] He tensed as I knelt down behind him, sliding my arms under his until my hands fisted together atop his hard abs. His bare back felt sun-warm against my cheek, his scent made me so hungry I thought my stomach would growl. I wondered what he would think if he knew exactly how much of my day I had been summoning courage to walk the path before me and reclaim him. Amazing how nothing else but Heero really gives me pause in my 'ready-fire-aim' existence.

Then again, I can say with absolute certainty that I've never been in love before.

But, I do love him, and it makes those moments of abject terror worthwhile.

"I've missed you," I purred against his skin, my tongue tracing a warm, wet brand on his shoulder, marking him as mine while my arms tightened around him. He was taller and stronger than me, but I was still faster, and I intended to use my speed to its full advantage.

***

Kuso. I'd _never_ let him come upon me unaware like that. A thrill of fear shot through me; was I simply losing my edge? Or had he gotten so deeply under my skin that my internal alarms no longer went off in his presence? Either way it was bad.

Every muscle tensed as he touched me, he'd obviously discarded any respect for the invisible boundaries I'd set a few days ago. It wasn't mere invasion, everything about him spoke to the fact that he was ready to declare war, with me as the prize. Dammit, Duo, don't you know that I _can't_ let you win?

My teeth clenched as his tongue darted out to taste my shoulder, tracing the curve of the muscle beneath as he nuzzled close. I couldn't do this, not now. Even being in his presence was enough to shake the hard-won composure I'd fought for since the night...we...since that night.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked coldly. Damn, he'd completely knocked me off-guard; that sounded far from convincing. Flexing my shoulders, I tested his grip. He had me tightly enough that I'd have to fight to be free. I remained still, muscles taut.

"Let me go, I'm not in the mood for games."

***

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, midnight and mischief and mystery all at once. My arms tightened possessively around him, the flare of answering heat in his body warming me inside. "I told you, I missed you," was my throaty reply as I nipped him with my teeth, blazing a trail of small bites across to his other shoulder. He was tight, so tight, tension strung through every fiber of his being and a raw hesitation under the ice in his voice. This made him nervous, I could tell, his body answering mine against his will. Maybe my Perfect Soldier wasn't so perfect after all.

Every movement I made had to be deliberate, confident and focused; God, I hoped it was only inside that I was trembling. "No. This isn't a game," I informed him, pressing close enough to crawl inside his skin. By now, I felt almost feverish, no longer needing his body heat to warm me. "This has _never_ been a game to me." It was more than I wanted to reveal now, so much more, but he abruptly tensed, as though the thought of sex mattering to me had yet to visit his mind and welcome him to the neighborhood.

Thoughts I could explore another time. All I could focus on was breaking down the barriers he had thrown between us, breaking them in the only way they had fallen before. "I want you," I breathed hotly against his ear, grasping the lobe between my teeth and teasing that ultra-sensitive spot just behind it.

***

"Duo..." It was a growl, barely articulate. _How dare you push me like this!_ it said. _Let me go now, or I'll hurt you._ I would have stood up at that point if I'd been able to figure out how to untangle myself. Already he was pushing the limits of my control. _I can't let you win, dammit._ Pushing them? The fucking accelerator was to the floor.

It would be so easy to stop thinking entirely. Forget the arguments, forget the fear... But you can't forget the blood when you stink of it.

"I--" my reply got caught in my throat and I realized I was shivering again. God dammit, Yuy, pull yourself together. "I can't," I ground out roughly

Stop, Duo. _Please._

***

"Heero...I promised I wouldn't leave you alone." With satisfaction, I felt him shudder convulsively as my tongue toyed with his earlobe. "I run...I hide...but I never lie."

This was a dangerous game I was playing--violence practically boiled beneath the surface of his skin--but I had to remind him I wouldn't break, that I, too, was strong. Strong enough to lead us if he didn't know where he was going. 

Without letting go of him, I maneuvered under his left arm--I wasn't quite bold or foolish enough to go around his stronger side--until I could snake my leg across his lap, straddling his lap and pushing his legs back towards the sand while my fingers twined together at the nape of his neck. 

Wearing nothing more than a worn, faded pair of cutoff jeans, unbound hair, and a smile, I leaned in until we were breathing the same breath.

He looked pissed. Deadly. And, deep down, scared out of his mind.

Perfect.

His eyes tracked to mine, and dear Lord, they were nearly on fire. My smile widened. "Do you trust me?"

***

"Forgetting your Japanese already?" I snarled softly, turning my head to meet his eyes as he slowly slid around my body. "'Heero Yuy,'" I continued in the same, forbidding tone. "It means 'one.' I was born to be alone." My eyes didn't actually find his, full on, until the last word left my tongue.

Mistake. Huge mistake. God you're stupid, Yuy, how many times do you have to drown in those eyes before you realize that you can deny them nothing?

Suddenly I was having trouble breathing, mind slamming back hard into my skull as his warm, lithe body joined those incredible eyes and came into full contact with mine. Like him, I wore nothing but a pair of shorts. It had seemed a good idea this morning, to feel the wind and sun against my skin. Now it was just another soldier in the army of marks on the scoreboard...not a single one of which stood in my favor.

He pressed into me until our lips were little more than a breath apart, almost as though we were beginning a kiss in slow motion. The temptation to make that into reality was overwhelming. I closed my eyes. That left me breathing in the scent of him, mingled with the clean smell of surf and the sand. Drowning in that sole sensory input; God, this was almost comical. 

I grit my teeth, leaning away as far as I could shy of overbalancing, which wasn't nearly far enough. "It's not you I don't trust," I said softly. Oh no, it wasn't him at all.

_I_ was the weapon, hammer cocked...finger trembling desperately on the trigger.

***

I shook my head slightly and shrugged, the movements sending more of my hair trickling over his bare legs. "That's not the name you were born with...any more than mine was Duo Maxwell. If your goal is pushing me away with rationalization, give up now. You won't be alone; I made a promise I _will_ keep." 

My heart thundered in my chest, desire quicksilvering out through my veins. Being this close to him and holding all of the cards in this cutthroat game were oddly exciting in ways I'd never dreamed possible. My body leaped almost painfully in response to his jerky breathing; God, I didn't think it was possible to want, to need this much.

I gripped his shoulders, fingers kneading provocatively at the tight knots of muscle there as I rebalanced my control with a deep breath. "Wakatta. You don't have to trust yourself this time, Heero." From the intensity in my voice, I could only imagine what was in my eyes. "Just trust me with you." Relentlessly, my fingers continued their invasion, marching north to tangle in his windblown hair, firming my grip on both the situation and him.

"Let me make love to you," the words whorled almost tangibly, filling the space between us in echo of that desperate time in a Brussels hotel room. "I want to look in your eyes and hear you calling my name." I leaned back in towards his ear, as though imparting some great secret to him that could carry no further than the distance of my breath.

"I want to be inside you..."

***

I'm addicted to his touch. By now I was starving for it, trying not to remember what it meant to have his hands on me. It was the answer to what I'd told him only moments ago.

If he's with me... I don't have to be alone anymore.

"No."

It's simple, really. I'm not worth it. I'd trust my life to him without hesitation...but not this time. This time, the stakes were too high.

Then again, there was my resolve, flawed and fragile... and then there was Duo's determination. Everything about him was intense, from the shadowed amethyst of his eyes to the restless tracery of his fingertips over my skin. No wasn't going to be good enough, not when my body betrayed me. I was responding to him almost by instinct and he knew it.

"You don't know what you're asking." I grit my teeth, eyes clamped shut. "There are things not even a good fucking can fix." There was no heat in it, because it wasn't entirely true.

Sick, ne? Sometimes Duo and I communicate better in bed than anywhere else.

"I _hurt_ you." If words could bleed, mine were a gaping wound, one robbed of the benefit a week's time should have worked in it. Simple explanation: if you worry at a wound, it won't heal. I'd gnawed at it mercilessly, savoring the pain. At once it reminded me that I lived...and that I was dangerous. Lethal, efficient, deadly...cruel....

Shudder. Dammit, body, when did we part ways like this? I was floundering, lost, certain of some things, desperately uncertain of others. A soldier doesn't need these feelings...that touch. A touch craved and longed for.

A touch my body glared at me in disgust for refusing, then seized control and wantonly accepted... leaning in to his hand like a cat begging to be stroked.

Against my will, muscles loosened, unwinding their knots until they became supple beneath his hand. I drew in several slow, deep breaths, then my lashes parted, revealing eyes that reflected the stormy seas within, tumbled by raw need, desire...and a crippling hesitance.

"Duo, iya....onegai."

Damn. Not even I was convinced.

***

I couldn't help it; I laughed. It was the first time, however backhanded, he'd complimented my skills in bed. The sexual tension, however, made it a deep-throated, honey-rich sound, transcending amusement into something much weightier. "Nice to know I rate as 'a good fucking', Yuy." His name purred off my lips and I licked them casually, as if to physically draw that single syllable back inside. "But I know exactly what I'm asking for. I distinctly remember using the term 'making love'."

I stroked my thumb over his closed eyes, feeling them jerk responsively beneath the thin lids. "It's different...it's always been making love with you," I added under my breath, but he gave no sign that he'd heard.

My touch followed the lines of tension that striated through his face, the clenched, locked muscles in his cheek. He was in sheer torment, agonizing over what had happened between us. How could I tear down this wall when he kept slapping up bricks and mortar all around him?

Very carefully. One piece at a time.

"Baka," I murmured softly, brushing gentle fingertips across his brow, striving to communicate through touch what he needed to know. "You didn't rape me. I didn't fight you. I never told you 'no'."

I shook my head again, determined to ram truth into that indestructible cranium. "What happened between us wasn't just your doing, it was mine, too. You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do, and if you're going to blame yourself you have to blame me, too. I was as much a part of it as you."

***

_No! You don't understand..._

_Fine. I'll _make_ you understand._

"It doesn't matter." I swallowed hard, trying to keep the sick feeling in my gut from climbing up the back of my throat. "You don't know what I'm capable of." I set my jaw, cobbled together the remnants of my resolve, felt my eyes freeze over. "I could kill you." The ice splintered but held.

I let the memory of my nightmares, my worst fears, wash over me and drew from them. I was down to desperation at this point, but being desperate lends you a fervor confidence never does. "In my dreams, you're laying under me just like you did that night... and I can taste your blood on my lips. You're drowning, Duo, drowning in your own blood." A sick smile stolen from my most intimate fever dreams crept across my mouth. "It's all over me. I'm covered in it, Duo," I said softly. "Don't you smell it on my skin when you're this close?" Truth bit me, drawing blood. "The monster's just biding his time to get out... and right now you're the only one around for him to take down."

I laughed softly, my eyes turning bitter and bleak. "You know I'm not worth it... Stop pretending, let me protect you."

I'm your worst enemy, Duo. You knew that instinctively the first time we met, and you should have followed through with the impulse. Somewhere along the line you made the fatal choice to ignore that impulse. 

I'm not sure even now what keeps stopping you; maybe you're just as insane as I am.

Never mind. I know you are. You're still here.

***

[1] "I'm such a fool/idiot" or "I'm so stupid."

[2] "No, you're not a fool/idiot" or "No, you're not stupid."


	13. Innocence Faded 13 limelemon prelude

Innocence Faded, Part 13 

_You know I'm not worth it...stop pretending and let me protect you..._

_I'm not worth it,_ he said. I refused to accept that. I had carefully built much of my own worthiness, my hope, my future around him--around us--and when he denied his own value, he denied mine, too. He denied the faith of the friends who had carefully orchestrated this sliver of paradise just for us. He denied that there was anything to live for with war in its grave.

Bullshit.

I didn't realize I'd moved until his head snapped to one side and a crimson print bloomed on his cheek. "Bakayaro!" [1] I ground out between clenched teeth. The part of me reserved for rational thought and remorse for my actions was cowering and whimpering somewhere in a tiny corner of my psyche, but I couldn't hear it; at that moment, body shaking with adrenaline, I didn't notice anything more than what his words meant to me.

I gripped his shoulders, anything but gentle now. No one should ever forget that I was a Gundam pilot, too, and a damn good one. Especially not Heero Yuy.

"Listen to me," my voice commanded as I shook him roughly, hearing his teeth click together. "I'm not the little pink princess that can't see past the mask to the killer underneath. I've never denied his existence; I know he's in there. I see him everyday. He looks out at me through your eyes, and the mirror shows me he's in mine."

A grimace wrenched my mouth into a twisted line. "We were killers. All of us. I have the nightmares that make me sick, too," I admitted. "The flowing blood, the death, the screaming in pain. They exist only to help us remember why war is not the answer to man's problems."

"But those dreams aren't me. They aren't who I choose to be. They aren't real."

I shook him again, harder, determined to drive this point home. From this...from him...I no longer wanted to run or hide. "But I'm real. Feel my heart," I demanded, pressing his left palm to my chest and pushing his right one over his own heart. "It beats the same as yours." The desperate cadences pounded in perfect synch, resonating through our skin. 

"We are the same, Heero. You are me. I am you."

***

Shock. It was shock I was feeling, beginning in the abused flesh of my cheek and flaring outward. It robbed me of sensation, plunged me in ice water....ice that compressed inward until I shattered beneath the pressure.

I hung limp in his grasp for several moments, distantly aware of his impassioned words. They seemed to grow louder as he continued, or perhaps they simply became clearer to me, my mind fastening to them to draw the meaning out.

_The killer... I see him everyday...._

My head snapped forward as he shook me, and I slowly lifted it, breath coming in uneven pants as he seized my hand and pressed it over his heart. It beat strongly beneath my touch...finding its match in my own, urgent pulse.

No. This can't happen. I won't _let_ it.

"Let me go..." I rasped softly. "Let go of me, Duo." My voice took on a frantic note as I tensed beneath him.

I have to get out of here. I can't breathe, I can't think.

"Get off of me," it was too shaky to be the snarl I'd intended. "Let me go, dammit!"

I squirmed, trying to struggle free, but he had the full advantage of the entire weight of his body to fix me in place. His purple-dusk eyes blazed with challenge as I tossed my head up, daring me to do what it took to throw him off. He knew he had the upper hand, exploited it shamelessly.

For the first time in a long time, I was terrified... because he was right.

***

"No." Grated out between my teeth, the syllable was raw. "If you think you wronged me, then I'll forgive you and we'll move past this. But I will _not_ let you go. I will _not_ let you run away anymore."

Taking his face in my hands, I poured the full power of my gaze straight into his soul. 

"I am _not_ afraid of you."

In the stunned pause that followed, the invasion began. One hand firmly grasped the back of his head, tilting it just so in readiness. "Kiss me," I breathed, and it was warning rather than request, a declaration of my intentions a heartbeat before I lowered my mouth to his and plundered the territory. The thumb of my other hand gently pushed his jaw down and I thrust inside, aggressively waging war on his tongue with mine.

Talking with Trowa had emboldened me to take the lead, a lead begun with but not limited to the body. After all, if sex instantly cured everything that was wrong between two people, no one would ever have bad relationships. Sex was only the method, not the message. Speak in the language of touch, glance, and deed and let it communicate the subtext of feelings, emotions, needs and desires. And I did. 

My hands ran over him, greedily devouring the breadth of his shoulders, the tightness of his chest. They paid homage to the sculptured planes of his stomach, traveled the unforgiving power of his back. It was like making slow love to nitroglycerine; my adrenaline levels shot to critical just with the not-knowing of what he might do. At any second he could escalate my strike into full-blown war.

A war to be waged completely on my terms. No quarter given, no mercy offered. I demanded nothing short of full surrender, and I would attack until it was mine.

***

Clean. 

He smelled clean. Not like blood, or fear, or pain. He smelled clean and he was warm, and he was kissing me. Kissing me like I was worth saving. I tried to pull back but he prevented it, growling softly as his fingers laced deeper into my hair. He stroked my back, urging me to relax, to submit to his will. If only this once.

I tensed, ready to put up a fight, and then....then abruptly let the tension go. I leaned into him, inviting his tongue deeper. Do you want explanations? I don't have any, other than I knew he wanted this more than I wanted to escape. That, somehow, I wanted this too. For days I'd been lost in my nightmares. Caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, playing out scenarios even worse than the one I'd told him about. I needed something real to replace them in my conscious memory.

He wasn't going to let me go. I needed him to help me stay. Or, more simply, I needed _him_. 

This was his game, his rules. I...I wasn't sure if I liked that. Then again, if we'd played by my rules we wouldn't be here. It wasn't the first time, it wasn't even the first time in recent memory, but... I don't know. This time it was different. We kissed, and it became a skirmish, ending abruptly when I wrenched away from him, gasping for breath as I looked anywhere but at him. This could get out of control again so easily, become a repeat of our last encounter. I considered trying to get away again, but he seemed to sense the cant of my thoughts, steadying his balance, tightening his hold on me. 

He grasped my chin, lifting my head, and the same choices as before were there in his eyes. Submit, or turn this into a real fight. It really left me with only one choice.

There was a pause, I think he wanted to be sure I wasn't going to bolt, and then the kiss began all over again. He went a little slower this time, but it was building to the same pitch, climbing to the same level of intensity and aggression. Again I fought him, but the hand tangled in my hair stroked gently, urging me to relax.... and this time I did. I submitted, arching my neck, dropping my jaw to allow him further in. It was strange and intensely erotic, all at once.

***

He pulled back, not with his body but with that blazing, incandescent soul that lives inside and looks out through his eyes. Heero Yuy was terrified...of me, for me, and most of all of himself. That he would hurt me again. I still didn't consider soreness from good lovemaking being hurt, but he did, and therefore I had to remove that possibility from occurring. Yet another brilliantly drawn Maxwell conclusion.

Or you could say it was Trowa beating me with the comprehension stick...

Almost since I met him, I realized I have viewed Heero as someone beyond human, transcending the fragile bounds that define the existence of the rest of us. Setting his own broken bones. Tearing down the defenses of an impenetrable palace sunken into the ground. Taking on the Zero System that cheerfully made scrambled eggs out of my psyche. 

Nothing stopped him. Was there anything he couldn't do?

Yet, these same abilities, talents, strengths I admired--even secretly envied at times--he hated. In his mind, they comprised something far, far less than human. Something that had neither right nor privilege of aspiring towards humanity. Something animal lurking just under that shell of flesh and blood, something bubbling with violence scarcely restrained by the few, filmy shreds of decency floating on the surface. 

Those abilities were the tools of war, designed only for causing destruction, pain and chaos.

Tools with no use in a time of peace.

In the midst of my frazzled nervous afternoon, that thought sparked a faint memory in me, a misty recollection of...something. Something vital. Something that I sensed was the missing key. I'd read or heard it once upon a time, I knew. I had searched every book in the spotless house and every resource I could imagine in vain, sparing a frustrated kick for both computer and desk in the office.

The top lateral drawer had slid open, revealing an open leather-bound book. A slender sateen ribbon snugged into the spine marked the place. Fingers trembling, I picked up the book, cradling its comforting weight in my lap as I dropped into the chair behind me. Underlined words leaped out at me, the very words I had been seeking.

'They will beat their swords into plowshares...nor shall they train for war anymore.' [2]

_Another message, Trowa? Or was it Quatre?_ What amazing foresight to plant a well-worn Bible in our new house, open to a specific verse, in the hope that one or the other of us would find it and understand. A joint effort and a soft, encouraging push from our absent friends, I decided, drawing a fragrant breath of some of the wildflowers pressed elsewhere in the pages. 

Gently, I closed the book, leaving it out on the desk this time instead of hidden away in the drawer, already feeling the urge to move taking me again. Shinigami had one more good fight left in him, and if he gained a wounded soldier his humanity, perhaps he could at last rest in peace, too...

Sunlight reflected in Heero's eyes, swirling them with infinite shades of oceanic blue. I could never get tired of just looking at him, drinking in the magic and power of his presence. So strong, so tender. _Let me take care of you, _mine whispered, framed in that low, seductive chuckle bubbling past my lips just before they claimed his once more.

This time, stealth was my weapon. I cloaked the attack in an almost meek front, whispering up against his mouth with a tenderness that turned torrid the moment my tongue quested inside. He stiffened beneath me like a startled horse, once more ready to bolt, but I was ready, offering touch and sensation to his resistance, slowly rocking my hips against his with languid ease, dropping my other hand to those acutely sensitive male nipples. I circled one with my thumb in lazy strokes, tracing its circumference until the muscle beneath quivered with tension. _You can depend on me. I won't let you fail. I won't let you fall._

He took a shuddering breath from my mouth, inhaling some of my determination, and opened himself to me.

Wasting no time, I surged forwards, lunging desperately for what he offered, plunging deeply inside. The inertia rocked us backwards--even Heero occasionally falls prey to the laws of physics --and splayed us atop his blanket on the sand as I savaged his mouth with demanding, fierce kisses. We wore nothing from the waist up, and that left him bared to my invasion, trailing a hot, wet path over his chin and down his neck. _I love kissing you. God, Heero, I need you like air. _

Like a tiger, I fastened onto his throat, sucking just hard and long enough to redden his skin. Hot, every part of me felt on fire, consumed in the heat that poured off his body as I made my way further down his chest, leaving a greedy swath of bitemarks straddling loving and lustful.

Reaching that nipple I had earlier teased, I mercilessly laved it with my tongue, suckling it to stark alertness. He groaned and arched under me, and I slid a hand beneath him, squeezing his backside and pulling him towards me, drawing burning heat against burning heat. 

My hips gyrated suggestively into his, shockwaves pulsing outwards and stars clouding my vision when our cloth-covered and straining flesh met. "Can't you feel how much I want you?" I purred, the words rising up like steam. _Not just your body, but _you. _All of you._

"You want me too, ne?" My hand slithered inside the waist of his shorts for my answer, hot and firm and throbbing.

***

The waves ravaged the beach, slowly but surely wearing it away. That's how the beach came to be in the first place. It may have even been a mountain once, tall and proud, forbidding... But the tide is relentless, day after day it rolls in, leaving its caress on the land, taking away a little of the mountain and leaving the open, golden beach in its wake.

Both constant and capricious, my lover was the waves, I the land. Duo wore at me, rolling over me with the merciless persistence of the ocean. I could feel his power over me intensify, reinforced by touch, scent, softly spoken word. Casting thought away, I welcomed it at last.

_Pull me under, Duo... Pull me under, I'm not afraid. Not anymore. Just don't let me go._

In the past, it has always been his gentleness to my ferocity. Sometimes blind, even mindless or angry, he would meet my passion with his own, taming it, accepting it and giving it back to me as something that had far more to do with making love than sex. This time it was neither and both, the ferocity was his, but I had nothing to offer save uncertainty, fear and hesitance... He didn't seem to mind.

Truthfully, neither did I.

A kiss that began as something slow swiftly became anything but, his body slamming into mine as he took the ground I'd given up, pressing his advantage as we tumbled to the sand. His mouth burned against my skin as he left me gasping for breath, blazing a trail down my jaw. Teeth closed possessively over the gentle rise of the jugular beneath my skin and I hissed softly in protest against the surge of pleasure/pain.

The protest was short-lived, becoming an unsteady pant as he marked my skin from throat to chest. The stakes of this game were very high. He was bidding not just for simple possession of my body, but of mind and heart, making it clear that from beginning to end, he controlled this.

The intent was simple: if I lost control this time, it didn't matter... 

It had never been mine to have in the first place.

My over-sensitized skin betrayed me as he lowered his head to suckle at my nipple, teasing it erect in a pale reflection of what had already been alert and aware long since. I groaned, throwing my head back as my spine bowed, all but giving him invitation to bring our bodies into closer contact. I gasped, writhing beneath him as he moved against me. Could I feel him? _ God, yes._

"Dammit, Duo," I grated, looking up at him with blue eyes gone hazy with need. "Hai... I need..." Suddenly my brain refused to supply me with either the Japanese or the English required to express just what I needed. I think he knew, I'm not sure how he could have failed to know. 

Slim, agile fingers brushed against hard, fevered flesh, eliciting a sound from me that was more sob than anything else. I tangled a hand in his hair just for something to hold onto, my hips lifting instinctively in response, searching for friction, for anything to ease the tension that sang through me as though my body were a well-tuned string plucked by a maestro.

***

[1] 'Bakayaro' has many different connotations depending on context--hey, what doesn't in Japanese?--and it can range from "idiot" to "fucking bastard". It falls much more on the latter end of the spectrum here.

[2] The Bible, Isaiah 2:4, New International Version


	14. Innocence Faded 14 lemon

Innocence Faded, Part 14 

The beach was deserted, this stretch of sandy paradise belonging to us alone in more ways than one. As if respecting our privacy, even the seagulls had retreated to a position further down the shore, their splashes and cries a distant background noise. Or perhaps we were simply embarrassing them as we fumbled through our heated foreplay. The sun shone warmly over skins rapidly drenching in passion. My loose hair shrouded down to shelter the both of us, one of Heero's hands desperately lacing through it.

I stopped breathing, as if that touch had flown up the strands and devoured my insides, throwing gasoline on the unforgiving blaze. That silent language of human contact reverberated without sound as I explored that beloved body. _Touching you...it just isn't enough._ My tongue worshipped his jutting collarbones, licking and sucking the hollows they made with his throat. Inside his shorts, my thumb rubbed restlessly at the baby-soft ridge of his hardness, following that line in circles around the head. _My whole being is consumed with you._

Body sneaking southward across his chest, I poured an erotic groan into his navel, punctuating it with a lazy, purposeful swipe of my tongue. Lengthy, wet kisses followed around the edge of that delicate indentation, and a playful nip at the rock-hard muscles caressingly surrounding that crater. _Consume me in return. _I ran a fingertip up the underside of his penis, then flipped it to trail the top of my fingernail against his skin until he impatiently thrust up against my touch, demanding more.

His shorts, which started as just loose enough for me to slip fingers and little else inside, had become an impediment as they grew tighter. With one more touch of promise, I reluctantly withdrew them, shimmying down between his legs until my fingers splayed just above his waistline, my hair cascaded over his bare legs, my chest thrust against his solid, needy manhood, and my nose resided a breath away from the top button of his denims.

Not for long.

With an inarticulate growl, I fastened teeth on his waistband, artfully tugging and manipulating my jaw and tongue until they thrust that first silver button free of its confining hole. [1] His hips jerked up convulsively, pressing against me, and my firm hands pushed him back against the blanket with authority.

Here, this close, I could smell the hot, primal, unmistakably male scent of him, and my own manhood leaped in reaction. Smells did it for me every time, not like I wasn't ready for him instantly. Bangs falling in my face, I glanced up at him, glimpsing his eyes were screwed shut, hands knotting and unknotting in the blanket beneath him. 

It was a phenomenal sight. I'd never felt more turned on in my life, not just because I was in control but because I could watch his reactions. I could see him wanting me. We tended to make love in the dark, not out of shame but lack of knowledge or need for secrecy. _I want to watch you this time. I want to see every light in your eyes, every moment of passion and want while I share my own with you._

The remaining buttons took some twisting to manipulate--the desperate, distracting, 'I-want-you-fuck-me-now' movements of his hips nearly drove me to rip his shorts in two--but it seemed all that tongue-exercise called talking proved a valuable resource. With a triumphant nuzzle and lick of his stomach, I slid Heero's shorts over his hips, baring him fully to my eyes. 

I'm surprised I didn't drool right on him; does he have any idea just how sexy going commando is? 

I maneuvered the cutoffs almost to his knees before temptation got the better of me. I knew I had to taste that forbidden fruit. Now. 

My hot breath coursed over his shaft as I wrested first one leg, then the other free of his clothing, carelessly throwing the denims down the beach. Where they landed was of little concern compared to the feast now laid bare before me. 

Just a taste, I promised myself, just a small sampling of the buffet. 

Warm and wet laid claim to hard and smooth in a languid stroke running his full length, ending with a long, playful suckle. "Do you like that?" my voice, husky and thick to my own ears, demanded. "Do you want me, Heero, as much as I want you?" I dipped my head, taking him in my mouth again, this time only halfway while I cupped his heavy, round balls in one hand, palming their weight. _So, so beautiful. Glorious. _

I rolled my lips over my teeth and nibbled at the ridge of his erection, parting my mouth at last from his solid heat. Callused fingers teased downwards past his warm sac, rubbing at that sensitive spot between it and his tight passage. He arched down into my touch, a strangled sound in his throat. "I want to be inside you, do you want me there?" 

Tiptoeing, my fingers continued their quest, cresting and hovering at that entrance. "I want to hear you scream for me, lover." They massaged gently, and I turned the fiery amethysts of my eyes from him just long enough to leave a sultry mark on his inner thigh. "Tell me you want me," I purred, just shy of a demand as the movement of my head trailed long strands of hair over his manhood.

***

So he was Shinigami, ne? I would have laughed if I'd had the presence of mind. Basically what that amounted to was that Duo felt he had part and parcel to be an unholy pain in the ass. God, he was making me crazy. What's more, he was enjoying it. My lover is a sadist, but it's not from pain that he derives his satisfaction, but pleasure. Exquisite, soul-singing, earth-shattering pleasure.

"Duo," I cried softly, a shudder going through me as his breath whispered along my shaft. His lips brushed across the head in a fleeting, butterfly kiss, retreating again as I distantly registered my shorts disappearing. I drew breath to call him, but the words couldn't be heard. The air had been stolen away, drawn down through my body and into his sinful mouth. My fingertips kneaded his scalp like a cat's paw, and I had to consciously force myself to untangle them, stroking through the silky fall of his hair down to the ends, then starting over again, keeping the same languorous rhythm he worked over my cock. 

I growled softly as he asked me a question, more aware of the fact that he'd stopped than consciously processing his question. "Yes," I answered impatiently once I'd mentally replayed what he'd said, digging my fingers into the blanket beneath me. I don't think it would have mattered all that much what he'd asked. Whatever it took to get him started again, I'd do. He startled a strangled cry from me as his fingers applied gentle pressure somewhere slightly lower, teasing against my tight opening. I bucked, unable to quell the instinctive thrust of my hips as he pressed a little harder at the sensitive ring of muscle that guarded it. My body knew what it wanted, it knew exactly what it wanted. 

With a deep, fierce growl, I rose up on my elbows, looking down at him. "I want you," I said in a low voice that sounded harsh and unused. "I want you..." I stumbled, a part of me still unable to fathom the request. Waiting until I had his dark amethyst eyes locked with mine, I tried again... "I want you inside me," I whispered.

***

"As you wish," I whispered back, covering his tip in another wet, slurping kiss. Having skipped ahead on the path, my consciousness returned to grab my body by the hand and drag it forward into important, necessary action. There was always a little discomfort involved in playing catcher, so to speak, but preparation lessened it and I did my best to mimic what my need-strangled brain could recall of Heero's actions for me.

His warm, tight opening began to relax at last, granting my fingers entrance into that most secret paradise. I slid them up inside him, scissoring back and forth and up and down, moving within him in anticipation of the inevitable conclusion towards which we were breathlessly racing. My body was more than ready for him as I made him ready for me; having been on the receiving end of such action, I knew the timing was right when he ground back against my hand to take my fingers deeper. In a sinuous move, I rose back to my knees, curtaining us both again in my hair. 

I guided his knees apart, fumbling one-handed at the fastening of my own shorts and infinitely thankful they were very loose, riding my hips despite the fervent need of part of me to be freed. A few frantic motions and they and my boxers made it as far as my knees; there was no way in hell I was letting go of Heero to take them completely off. I felt as if I would implode if I let him go for even a second, I needed him that badly. I draped one of his long legs around my waist, feathering my touch up his lean thigh and taking a selfish moment to drown in him. _You amaze me. You leave me without words, only touch to tell you what I feel._

What was it like to know that you were about to make love to a dream in the flesh? Something far too perfect to possibly be real, and yet, it _was_ real? Whatever descriptive terms can be given to that feeling, it had my emotions in a knotty stranglehold, suffocating every bit of sense and good judgment I possessed. I tried to summon a grin for him; drinking in the wine of his body, I was sure it became a leer, but there was neither time nor energy to care. "All you ever had to do was ask..."

There were no more words as he took me. Yeah, I know, wasn't I playing the part of seme in this little coupling? But I was lost the moment I entered him. He took me, and with each feverish thrust he took me more, hips rising to meet me and take me deeper and deeper, swallowing me whole. Consuming me until there was nothing more of me, nothing left to give. Like he had never done before, he welcomed me, he invited me inside, and he rose to meet me, joined not just in body but mind, soul, will and emotions. 

I nearly broke down and sobbed as I plunged farther into him. It was too much, too overwhelming. 

It was making love. It always had been with me, but..._God...Heero...._

I trembled as my body and soul surged towards that mountaintop, ready to plunge over the top and forever fall. _Closer, closer..._ my breath panted in my chest, sweat dribbling down my back and arms as I held myself balanced over him, the primal old-as-time rhythm our only guide. 

Heero had surrendered, but it was I who was captive, held prisoner by an infinite pair of cobalt eyes. Open, honest, real eyes reaching down inside me to draw out that dark, hidden secret of my love for him and completely spill it forth. 

I was utterly vulnerable, trapped between paradise and pain in the throes of a passion I'd dreamed of and craved for nearly two years. Harder, faster, it was rushing at me in a desperate race with my body's fulfillment for dominance. I had to reach my peak before it was too late, before I spoke it all aloud and made it real. _He's not ready for that, I can't frighten him away!_

_Closer, closer, I can make it! _ My heart clawed up my throat like a wild thing, desperate to be free.

I trembled alone on the precipice, the swollen tide of ecstasy starting to crash upon me in slow motion, when he arched under me, grabbed my upper arms and convulsed, a strangled cry of my name pouring right into my soul as surely as he poured over our stomachs. One final thrust rocked my body and I exploded with a shout, clutching sand and blanket under my fingers. The convulsive spasms spilled me completely and with a weak moan I crumbled on his chest, broken, sweaty, exhausted and fighting for breath.

Lingering in that moment between life and death, too spent to move or even clearly think, that final culmination replayed itself in my mind, the warm jets of Heero's release followed by my wordless cry...that hadn't been wordless at all.

_I run, I hide, but I never lie._ And even those familiar options had been forever lost to me in that single, quiescent moment when "Ai shiteru!" had wrenched itself from my very soul.

_Ai shiteru..._

_I love you..._

Trying not to shake, I closed my eyes and prayed to anyone who would listen that he hadn't heard me.

***

I think we lost time for a while, both of us. Or perhaps Time simply paused, waiting patiently for conscious thought to find us again before continuing onward.

I became aware of the soft plush of the blanket under my back, of the shifting embrace of the sand that lay beneath it. A salt-kissed breeze wafted past my nose, stirring the sweat-slicked hair from my forehead. My fingers twitched, slowly closed around a strand of silky hair that lay carelessly across the back of my hand, following it upward until they touched the sweat-damp skin at its source. Warm, supple weight lay across my body, vibrant and lithe even in exhaustion.

I could still feel him inside me, stretching me even while spent, kindling a plaintive ache in flesh unaccustomed to being used in that way. I swallowed, breathed, eyes still closed as I turned that over in my mind. Pain for pain...the scales of balance were appeased. And a slow conclusion coalesced from my languid thoughts. He had done this for me. Seduced me, wooed me, made love to me with all the passion and fire that set his soul alight. He wanted what little I had to offer, was willing to chance the violence that still lurked in me.

As Gundam pilots, we had no choice but to live by chance, to trust that, somehow, Fate would see fit to grant us lenience, even in the face of impossible odds. How could I forget that? I could try to protect him all I wanted, but the one thing Duo Maxwell refused to be protected from was me. He was willing to take the chance. How could I not take it, too? 

I'm not alone. I still hurt, I'm still so screwed up inside, but... God, I'm not alone.

A soft laugh began somewhere low and bubbled upward, finally breaking on the air with a rich and genuine sound. It felt good to laugh, safe and light and warm, and I knew as it happened that it was something that would both shock and please my lover. I stroked his hair, willing him not to move. I wanted to keep this feeling of being embraced and possessed a little while longer. The closest I've ever come to being whole are in these moments, bodies joined, hearts keeping time to one rhythmic beat.

"You make it seem so easy," I said hoarsely, opening my eyes to look up at the muted watercolors of the sunset sky. "But it's not.... is it?" I sighed softly, and it came out as a weary chuckle. "God, I'm tired, Duo," I admitted, I think it was the first time I'd said that to anyone. "I just want to sleep for a little while... beside you." I breathed, once and once again, and realized, finally, that the soldier, while never leaving completely, could be allowed to rest. 

I let silence fall between us again. Then asked a question that somehow seemed both silly and incredible. "The war is really over, isn't it?"

He'd tensed slightly when I'd first spoken...for reasons that I thought I understood, but chose to leave alone for the moment. Now he stirred, slowly lifting his head and puffing wild strands of hair out of his face. I hesitated, then reached out to brush them away, watching the light dance in his eyes as he registered the touch, leaning into it. There was another long moment of silence before he gave me any kind of answer, and I could almost watch the thoughts racing through his mind at light speed before he finally did.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "It is." Lodestone to polar North, we drew together then. I have no idea who initiated it first, it just happened... but a kiss marked that moment of agreement. And maybe, just maybe, it was a promise of something that could last. 

***

[1] Yup, Heero's a button-fly kind of boy. 


	15. Innocence Faded 15

Innocence Faded Part 15 

What do you expect when you wake up? It seems like an easy question, doesn't it? Most anyone will tell you that they anticipate a certain set of stimuli or conditions upon waking. I think it has something to do with the human tendency for falling into a routine.

Ultimately, I suppose that returns me back to the argument I've had with myself over and over again. I don't expect a thing when I wake, have never been in any situation where there was something lasting or enduring enough _to_ expect. One more basic human tendency, inapplicable to me. Doesn't that make me less than human?

Then again, I'm finding it harder and harder to continue an argument that's getting very tired. Instead of accepting the judgment as a given, I'm forced to search for proof, validation. Maybe eventually I'll have no argument at all. One can hope.

It's a baby step. But...I'm still young, I have the time to take small steps. In time, maybe I can even learn what it _means_ to be young. Thank God I have someone to teach me.

God... Eternal mystery or cosmic joke? I don't know, I've never had the opportunity to wonder. Then again, I've found heaven, haven't I? And... watching the dawnlight tiptoe gently across his face, stroking fingertips of radiance through the fire-gold filaments of his lashes...how could I possibly think that the divine was absent in the world?

Thank God, thank _someone_, because I certainly never did anything to deserve the angel that lay just out of reach, an impish smile curving his lips as he snored gently through my scrutiny. Just when I think I'm saving him from me, he saves _me_ from myself. How many times had he pulled me from the brink? And for what? The reasons were obvious to anyone but me...

Keep telling me, Duo, because evidently my head is too thick to absorb them.

I closed my eyes, basking in his presence, as though the force of it danced against my skin like a caress. I stretched, caught myself and winced. My body still ached from the day before, but it was a pleasant ache. Surprising, strange, different, but pleasant. Sometimes I underestimate Duo. I should really learn to stop that.

I settled back against the pillow and...well... tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up this way every morning. What would it be like for the question of waking up to have an easy answer? To know that the light will fall across our bed just so, filtering through the drapes to dapple snowy bedding in gold. To expect a warm presence and a generous mouth curved in a knowing smile... and violet eyes that pierced my heart, summoned by morning's first kiss.

I was wrong...it was not the place that was heaven, but the feeling. I swallowed hard, the realization that there could be a thousand thousand more opportunities for this feeling overwhelming my novice ability to cope. The feeling flooded my eyes and rolled down my cheeks...and as it moved through me and over me, I held onto it with a fierce joy.

I was alive... For the first time in my short life...that meant something.

***

Consciousness lay just out of reach; to leave the dream would spill me back into the reality of Heero avoiding me. I would awaken and he would be gone and facing that seemed downright unfair with the memory of that beautiful dream still pulsing through my mind. The two of us, alone, making love on the beach in what could only be termed a communion of souls. Scrambling back to the house in a flurry of sand and sweat turned to a long sojourn in the oversized shower and blissful rest in one another's arms. After fighting so hard to make it real, I wasn't ready to let go and return to that uncertain and often cruel world beyond my closed eyelids. I just wanted to forever stay in this blissfully warm spot of surrealism where I could feel his body heat radiating under the blankets. 

I didn't expect him to be in our bed when I woke; perhaps that's why I still clung to sleep. Too many times in the past few days the hope I'd awoken with had shortly dwindled to despair. I wanted so, so badly to believe I'd finally gotten through to him and he knew I wouldn't walk away. God, I loved him...I _loved_ him! Turning my back became impossible; I had no illusions that love meant we would always agree or never say things in anger to hurt, but...in admitting how much I needed him I'd found the faith to follow my feelings and make the decision to do whatever it took to make him happy. To make him human. 

God, even if that meant letting him leave....

I shied violently from the thought, but love was never meant to be a jailer. 'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.' [1]

Despite my resistance, my eyelids crept open by degrees, blinking almost myopically at the influx of light from above and to my left. I blinked again, rubbing at the sleep-crusted corners of my eyes, and yawned. Time to get up and face the day. He hadn't reacted when orgasm had wrung my confession from my bones, so there was still hope. Hope that he hadn't heard and hadn't run away and....

There was a warm human body partially under the blankets next to me. Heero was still here. The body heat from my dream was no illusion. 

I started to say his name, but stopped in shock. Heero Yuy...was weeping. Not misty-eyed, not teared up or even crying, but weeping, huge tears silently pouring down his face like rain while his chin and shoulders both shook. A look that could have been rapture or pain twisted his face and I felt my insides clench. What was wrong...what could possibly have happened to result in this? I'd _never_ seen him cry, never! _Oh, dear Lord, what have I done?_

"H-Heero?" I whispered, barely audible, as I stretched out a hand and laid it on his wet cheek. "What's wrong? Are...are you hurt?"

***

My eyes flew open at the sound of his voice, the world a blurry mosaic of shapes and colors. I scrubbed at my eyes impatiently to clear them, but it wasn't working very well, the tears kept flowing against my will. I rolled onto my side and rubbed my face against the pillow, soaking the fabric and making the situation even more miserably comical with virtually no result. 

I looked up at him and sniffled, taken aback by the fearful look on his face. "I..." What had he said? I replayed it in my mind, neatly extracting comprehension from that mental record. "Iya, iya," I said quickly, sniffling more. "I'm ok." He looked like he didn't believe me, and really, I don't think I could blame him. I... I don't think I've cried like that since I was a child. No, I don't think I've cried like that at all. 

I tried again. "Hontou ni... I'm alright." That sounded better. Less...pitiful.

***

For all the world, he looked like a lost child, confused and bewildered by his unfamiliar surroundings. He wiped his face on the pillow, and I felt my heart swell; he sniffled and rubbed at his nose, and I felt it explode. 

The next thing I knew, I'd all but crawled on top of him, arms wrapped around him and my head buried in his damp neck. "You're here, you're still here, you're alright," I heard a voice saying over and over again; distantly, I recognized it as mine. "I was..." I felt my own breath hitch in my throat, his tears continuing to fall and now wetting my hair, "...so afraid you'd be gone." I was kissing his neck now, almost hysterically, unsure why the sight of him crying had affected me so. I had to hold him, to touch him, to feel how blessedly real and warm and _human_ he was.

I can't believe I'm thrilled he can cry.

"I'm sorry...sorry. 'm overreacting," I mumbled against his skin, my voice nearly lost under my hair.

I love him so much it feels like I'm drowning in it.

***

Startled again. I guess I'm just not used to waking up with him, to the thought of sharing my life and my bed with him. I wanted to be...and yet I didn't. No amount of wanting would include this feeling becoming commonplace. I paused, then went with what felt right, snugging my arms around his waist and nuzzling against his cheek. For some reason, the tears wouldn't stop, I think they may have even come a little harder.

Overwhelmed seemed like the appropriate description here, and yet I couldn't regret that. Not when I could feel so intensely. A deep breath drew his scent to me and I shivered slightly, inhaling again for the sole purpose of enjoying it.   
  
"I'm here," I said softly. "I--I'm not going anywhere." I meant it, I didn't want to run anymore. Not if running meant I couldn't be with him. Pulling back, I gently pushed his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ears. For a long moment, I just watched him, drinking in the sight of him trying to gather himself, failing miserably as our eyes met and his emotions bubbled over again. A slight, wistful smile suddenly tugged at the corner of my mouth, my eyes flicking away and then back.

I ducked my head shyly, then put voice to something I'd been thinking about since he'd woken up. "I had a dream last night," I began. "Kind of weird, I haven't had a good dream in so long that..." I trailed off, shrugging. "I don't know." I swallowed hard, reaching up to wipe away the last of the slowing tears from my eyes. 

"In my dream," I said very quietly, "you said you loved me."   
  
Silence fell between us for a heartbeat...two... My smile turned wry, almost self-deprecating. "Baka, ne?" [2]

***

His arms around me, his heart beating against me, felt so right, full of a certainty and strength of purpose that left me trembling inside. Had my desire been only for his body, I don't think his emotions could so move me, even in their seeming rarity. Yet, my entire being seemed acutely tuned to the most subtle rise and fall of his feelings and the ways they found expression. I could live fulfilled for weeks off the tenderness in his touch, the wiry strength in his hands. 

His words offered me the reassurance I'd sought all my life: someone who wouldn't leave me. The abject fear that had gripped me between sleep and wakefulness came as a shock, but I guess it shouldn't have. It is a familiar terror to me, one which I don't know if I will ever completely lose. Too many people close to me have died for me to blindly give affection anymore. Heero is amazingly strong, but he's not invincible. He's..._human._

God, I nearly started bawling. I'll just have to entrust him to fate for now, I decided, studying his spiky-lashed eyes, and carry a damned big stick to protect him.

I watched him cast the last of the water from his eyes, everything in me stilled by the hesitant words that followed. Whether he knew it or not, he was giving me an out, a means by which to still hide what I felt. Hide it, until I was sure it was what he wanted. The demands, the expectations, the baggage that accompanied 'love'...I couldn't force all that on him. He had heard me, but I could pass it off as a dream--a beautiful dream, but still something that wasn't real. Until the right time, he would never need to know. 

But I would know. A lie of omission is still a lie.

And Duo Maxwell doesn't lie.

"Iya," I whispered, giving my head a small shake. "Baka ja nai." My voice wavered, but the words kept pouring forth. "Yume ja nai. Hontou desu." [3] Carefully, I took his tear-moistened face between my fingers, reverting back to touch to aid my message. "Ore wa...omae ga...suki desu. Aishiteru yo." [4] 

The words couldn't be taken back. I'd said them. That made them real.

***

He cradled my face in his hands, lifting my eyes to his as he made his confession. I swallowed hard, searching his face, not sure at first what to say. This is all still so frustrating to me, so foreign. He was waiting for a reaction, I could tell, his body tense with wanting for it.   
  
I--I know he's as vital to me as air, that even being in his presence robbed me of all ability to think clearly or rationally. I know he's the most beautiful person I've ever seen, and that my life has never felt more real than it does right now, lying in bed beside him. But... He knows what love is. All its nuances, its implications, they're perfectly clear to him.  
  
When he said that he loved me, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what he was saying. I could see it in his eyes.   
  
I don't. And before I offer him those words, I had to learn what they meant. I had to be sure. Ultimately, I'd rather die than hurt him, and hurting him that way would be as bad, or worse, than driving a knife through his chest.

That left just one problem... how to make him understand?  
  
"Duo, I..." I took a deep breath, then forced myself to look at him again. "It makes me hurt," I said quietly, frowning as I struggled to express what I meant. "You've given me something impossible, and I don't know how to give it back." I paused, frowned more deeply and shook my head. "No, that's not--" Cursing softly, I ground to a stop again. "Love is--" No, dammit.  
  
Growling, I grit my teeth and looked at him fiercely. "This..." Leaning in, I brushed my lips against his, striving for something, anything... to show him how I feel.

***

Nervousness danced in my stomach like a line of chorus girls and I was light-headed from holding my breath, but I had to speak up, to make things clear. This was too vital to risk misunderstandings. I hadn't given him my feelings as a demand that they be returned in kind. Okay, the tiny part of me that admits to being a complete sap was hoping for a reciprocal confession, but...to insist upon it was the same as putting a price on my love. You can't have a price on something that is freely given.

"You don't have to..." was as far as I got before a warm mouth pulled me into its depths and swallowed me whole. 

I drank deeply from him, draining the well of his mouth as his tongue flirted with mine. The kiss was a gift, water on the parched earth of my soul, and I craved more to slake my thirst. I was swimming in him, utterly immersed in the gentle, tender exploration he made of my lips. Like a river, he branched into tributary lines, exploring down to my neck, my throat, the pooling hollows of my collarbones, each suckling kiss a droplet of meaning, an unspoken, tentative whisper like wind over waters. With breeze and breath, Heero answered my spoken feelings in the only way he knew how, communicated in last night's language that he cared, too. 

Did he love me the way I loved him? I didn't know, but I found it didn't matter. Real love isn't conditional. How he felt or didn't feel wouldn't change my love.

"Heero..." I exhaled his name, inhaled his scent and felt my entire being leap. Sapphirine eyes looked up at me through a forest of unruly bangs, almost like those of a wild animal pondering the actions of an unknown that could be either predator or prey. "It's all right," I said, reaching one hand towards those bangs, stroking them and the forehead they sheltered. "You don't have to give it back."

He started to speak, to utter what seemed a protest, but my fingers fell to his lips, begging indulgence for just a while longer. "This is my gift for you, for you and no one else. I won't say I don't want you to give it back. I'm human, I'm weak and selfish that way." One corner of my mouth wandered up in a rueful half-smile; I could lose myself in those sea-dark eyes studying me. "But...I won't tell you I love you to put those kinds of demands or restrictions on you. It isn't fair, it isn't love to do that to someone."

Trying to cobble words out of the swirling eddies inside me was difficult. Most of them were conceptual at best, but I found the more I spoke, the easier it became. A large part of me still quavered at the thought Heero might turn tail and run, but I had to give him that chance. I'd been so unfair to him in that respect already, I realized with shame. I certainly wasn't kidding when I said I was weak and selfish.

"I've never done this before, Heero. I'm still pretty stupid about this whole love thing. I know I'm going to make a lot of mistakes." One hand had migrated down to his chest, and I cherished the steady, strong pulse of his heartbeat beneath the pads of my fingers. "I already owe you a few apologies for ones I've made."

The quizzical look that crossed his face nearly made me laugh and nicely broke the tension I felt gathering inside me. He was so beautiful, eyelashes still unnaturally dark and damp from the earlier tears. Illumination from the skylight above cast his face in slight dappled shadows; the eastward sun was to my back, warm against my bare skin and loose hair. Gotta stop sleeping with it down; it would be a bitch to comb out later, but that was the least of my worries.

"I've...rushed things, I have." The words agreed, tumbling out and over one another like a litter of gangly puppies. "The house, the move, putting down roots. I really didn't stop to ask what _you_ wanted, and that wasn't right. I took advantage of your uncertainty and I pushed us in this direction. And I am so, so sorry, because it was selfish and manipulative and...you deserve better than to be treated like that." 

I sucked in a deep breath, as a swimmer breaking the surface and preparing to plunge under once more. "The worst part is I can't be completely sorry for all of that, because you're here. You're here and alive and real and human and...and I think I'll go crazy if I can't wake up to you every day for the rest of my life." I scrubbed my hands over my face, as if it would wash off the shame. God, I sounded like a needy, blithering female. "I want you here. I want you in my life so badly. But I won't decide that for you. I won't take that choice away from you any more than I already have." 

I sniffled, emotions pricking my eyes but far too proud to let them fall and influence him. Remembering his owlish expression, I summoned a tiny, gentle smile from the depths of my soul, just for him. "My arms will always be open for you, because I love you. I meant what I said. I won't give up. I won't run away." 

"I won't leave you. Ever."

Smiling sadly, I leaned in and feathered my lips to his, transferring the smallest puff of breath to his mouth. "Please tell me what you want, Heero."

*** 

Life with Duo-- Ha, there, I said it. Life. Living. With Duo. I wanted to giggle. It was a little frightening. No, make that a _ lot_ frightening. Does crying always do this to people? I felt like some of the weight had been taken away, that the pain, if not gone, had taken several steps back to a more comfortable distance. Maybe it was just for the moment but... God, it felt good.  
  
That left me to consider my options. He was giving me the opportunity to make a choice. There was a part of me that could have shied away at that point, following instinct to go and find somewhere quiet to sort things out. He was right, everything was moving so fast. Only weeks ago we'd been fighting a war, now we were contemplating peace... and one another. Head still spinning, my body was fighting to adjust to totally new surroundings, new time-zone, and a halfway normal schedule. I could run just far enough to think, to decide what to do...  
  
Then I realized exactly what had happened. When the world changed, so did I. Not easily, not alone. Between the two of us, we had found a place where I could exist, a stable foundation to slowly build on, until I had the chance to learn everything I needed to know to be something more.  
  
I wasn't a soldier or a weapon anymore. I was a man. A man that needed the person lying next to him very much... that hurt inside because he couldn't, with confidence, give the same words to that person that had been given to him. Not because they were expected...but because I wanted this jumble of feelings to be the same, a match for what put such incredible light and passion in his eyes.   
  
I wanted to know what it meant to love him. But I didn't, and that made all the difference.  
  
Life with Duo... is a roller coaster of emotion. There were no promises that everything would be ok, that the pain would stop. No guarantee that it wouldn't get worse. There were no promises that my nightmares would go away, or that I'd magically know how to be... normal. There was only one promise at work here,, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would be kept as long as the choices were his to make. He wouldn't leave. He would stay, and be my touchstone, for as long as I allowed him to. And you know, it was a promise I could return to him, without hesitation or waver. 

So here it is, the moment of truth... and I finally think I'm ready for it. "I want to be with you," I breathed against his mouth. Drawing back so that I could see his eyes, I quirked my lips in an answering smile. "I want you to teach me what love is." I leaned closer again until our foreheads touched, lacing my fingers with his where they rested over my heart. "And someday I want to give it back to you."  
  
When he started to speak, it was my turn to silence him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Shhh, let me finish... It's not because of how you feel or what you said..." I took a deep breath, squeezing his hand tightly.   
  
"It's what I want." 

*** 

In the past week or so, I think I've cried more than a heroine in a shoujo anime. And dammit if I didn't start again, dropping my head onto Heero's chest and bathing him with salty tears. It was embarrassing--never mind that he'd been drowning me in them a few minutes ago--but I was so overcome with relief it all came pouring out my eyes. _Father, Sister, is this what real faith is? Believing with all your heart and soul in something?_ His free hand moved up and down my back in slow strokes, reassuring me in much the same way I'd been reassuring him. He wanted to stay, each touch said. With me. So much for turning off the waterworks. 

It took a few minutes before words outpaced sobs up my throat. "S-Sorry," staggered out alongside a hiccup. "Little...overwhelmed, but...in a good way." I scrubbed my face off with the edge of the sheet, still feeling the constant clockwork beat of his heart under my fingertips. That made it easier to breathe normally instead of like a sputtering vacuum cleaner. "I was afraid you might not want to stay." Something like a snicker passed my lips, and I reached over Heero for the tissues on the nightstand. "Or that you'd run off and tell Wufei what a weepy onna I'm being and have a good laugh," I added, gathering the rest of my drippy dignity and drying my eyes and nose. "Not that I'd blame you; I'd probably be laughing at me about now, too." His mouth turned up in a small smile before he could catch it, and my heart flip-flopped in my chest. 

Even while I made jokes, I clutched tightly to myself the precious things he'd spoken. _I want to be with you...It's what I want. _I clutched tighter the solid reality of him: his body, his heart, his amazing, generous spirit. I believed at last we had come _home._ We had a home, a refuge, a future; it was almost like a fucking fairy tale, it felt so wonderful. The spinning, tilting world in which we'd found ourselves had finally stilled, leaving only us in a sliver of paradise. 

_A small part of existence that belongs only to you..._

_Help him find sanctuary..._

_Take care, Duo..._

We wouldn't be alone forever, I knew. There were friends waiting for us, friends whose voices I could almost hear calling us back to them. Friends wise and insightful enough to offer their counsel and wisdom but to do so from a distance, allowing us the opportunity to begin our journey together and depend only on each other. I wouldn't have wished the turmoil and the pain of this on any of them, even to share it with me. Maybe I'll share it with them in time, maybe I won't. No one needed to know just how close to the brink Heero was, how far he broke, how hard I had to fight to keep him sane or what the fight had cost me. In some ways, I thought it would hurt them more to know. 

We will probably never be normal. I don't think anyone who has done and seen what we have could ever be like the rest of those in the world. We will probably hold just enough of the veneer of normality to survive and blend in. But, by all that's holy we'll be doing it together. 

My stomach chose that introspective moment to declare its displeasure at my half-assed attempts to placate it the day before. Quite loudly. So much for my brilliant timing. "Uhm..." I said, patting the disgruntled body part, "I think that's a hint. I know I didn't put anything in me but soup and a sandwich yesterday, and I doubt you ate a thing." I poked him in those taut abs of steel, which definitely could use a little more flesh on them. "I don't promise it's the best, but I make a thoroughly edible breakfast." Flipping the tissue into the trash can--from three-point range, no less--I laid my head on his chest again and grinned up at him. I'd never felt more like part of a real couple. "What do you say?" 

*** 

With the hint of a smirk, I leaned in, swiping my tongue across the tip of his nose. "You're right," I replied thoughtfully. "You _would_ make a thoroughly edible breakfast." To prove my point, I tilted his chin up, lowering my head to drink in another taste of his mouth. The kiss had the potential to drive all thoughts of food from the surrounding area... until my body registered its own complaint.

Drawing away, I glanced ruefully downward. "I actually think it's been two days." The comment had been intended more for myself than for him. Somehow it earned me nothing but a mouthful of pillow. 

"Baka!" Frowning, I unearthed myself from the pillow just in time to see him slipping into boxers, bathrobe and bunny (?!) slippers. "That's it, you're not doing another thing until I personally oversee the packing away of _several_ breakfasts into your concentration camp bod." Casting a particularly dirty look at me over his shoulder, he headed for the stairs and disappeared down them, all well before I'd even managed to conceptualize an appropriate retort. 

I caught myself almost gawking after him, trying to figure out where along the line I'd summoned _that_ response. "Concentration camp?" Sitting up, I looked down at myself... and after a moment admitted that being able to count my clearly defined ribs wasn't necessarily a good thing. Well, it's not like I'd been deliberately...well... starving myself. I just... can't quite remember the last time I was actually hungry. 

That's sad, isn't it? That's the thing, though. It wasn't a happy beginning, and there were no guarantees for a happy ending. Somewhere along the way, you just have to grab for a little happiness to call your own. I think maybe this is my chance to grab mine. 

I sighed, another smile threatening to curve my lips as I listened to Duo's cheerful whistle as he assembled breakfast downstairs. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I looked out towards the balcony, where morning sunlight was streaming in through the filmy drapes. If I turned my head _just_ so...I could see a whisper of movement in the shadow and sun that played across the floor.

The movement resolved itself into the quicksilver shape of a little girl, playing with a puppy. I imagined, as I watched her, that she paused in her game of chase, gently batting the puppy away from her skirts as she turned to me with huge blue eyes and a trusting smile. _"Are you lost nii-chan?" _she asked in a high, sweet voice.

I met her gaze for several long moments, then slowly shook my head. "No... I know exactly where I am." She tilted her head in curious inquiry, and I smiled. "I'm home."

She seemed to study my face intently for several moments before returning the nod. Satisfied, she bent down and gathered the puppy in her arms, giggling as it washed her face with its pink tongue. Flashing a shy smile my way, she stepped back towards the glass doors, running off to play in the winter sunlight where it danced across the sea.

Home isn't a place...for me, it's a person. 

With one last look of farewell towards the water, I went downstairs to find my home.

_Tadaima, Duo... [5]_

_Owari - continuing the timeline in the Sexcapades (ficlets) and Scarred (second arc)_

[1] The Bible, I Corinthians 13:4-8a, New International Version

[2] Baka, ne? = Silly/stupid/foolish, isn't it?

[3] Yume ja nai = It isn't/wasn't a dream. Hontou desu = It's true/it's real.

[4] Ore wa...omae ga...suki desu = "I...love you." 'Ore' is the 'swaggeringly masculine' first-person pronoun for 'I' that all of the boys (except Quatre) use in the series. I have heard that its usage is considered somewhat rude, but I certainly hear it a lot in anime, even from boys as young as fourth grade. 'Omae' is one of the ways to say 'you'; it seems that male characters who use ore also use omae. Coincidence? Omae is another word I've heard can be somewhat rude in usage, but it can also be very intimate, as its literal meaning is 'the person who is in front of me'. 'Suki' is the traditional Japanese 'confession of love' verb. Duo follows this with 'aishiteru yo', which is a much more intense and intimate version. It also is one that tends to be used more rarely. The 'yo' is used for emphasis. Wow, never thought we'd close out a fic with a Japanese lesson. ^_^ 

[5] Tadaima = a traditional response when coming home, usually translated as "I'm home". I believe the literal meaning is close to "I have safely returned home." 

If you've made it this far, thank you greatly for the support, and we hope that this story has meant as much to you as it has to us. 


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